The Heart of a Lion
by Marshal1
Summary: Book One of the 'Founders Series': At a time when kings, knights and wizards compete for power over magical Britain, a young boy called Godric struggles to survive in the brutal world of medieval magic…
1. Prologue: The Boy Who Disappeared

**The Boy Who Disappeared**

Black-Hollow, 1083

Godric was six summers old when he first discovered he was different. It happened on a bright spring's day, when the small manor of Black-Hollow basked in the warmth of a blazing sun, illuminating the surrounding landscape with a golden glow. Black-Hollow was a hive of chaotic preparations for the coming May Day festivities. The inhabitants of the nearby village who weren't cultivating the local fields were busy readying the food, drink and games that would be enjoyed in abundance. Young maidens waited eagerly for the announcement of the year's Queen of May, whilst wiser heads chuckled knowingly at the antics of their younger brethren, remembering bygone days and their own youthful antics.

Within the great manor house, the festivities were not the only demand. Sir Edmund's eldest son William had recently returned from his duties at the royal court, where he was a page to his monarch and namesake. He'd been given leave by the King to briefly enjoy the spring festivities at his familial home, and Sir Edmund had declared a feast to celebrate his son's return. Tall, strong and training to become a knight, William was constantly at his father's side, observing the duties of a liege lord that would one day fall on his shoulders. The atmosphere around them was a swirling tempest of rushing servants, loud noises and rich aromas. Although Sir Edmund's household was small compared to the estates of the great magnates of the realm, the celebrations would be a lavish display of his pride in his eldest son's achievements, whilst also flaunting his rising status before his richer neighbours at Thanesfell. No one would suspect that Sir Edmund even had a second son.

Godric, the second son of Sir Edmund, wandered alone and undaunted through the chaos. He was a small, sickly child and weaved unnoticed amongst the bustling servants like a ghostly wraith from pagan folklore. Despite his head of bright auburn hair, no one detected his escape as he slipped away from his overbearing nurse to roam unhindered around the heaving courtyard. He revelled in the sights and sounds which greeted him, managing to evade notice and slink out from the suffocating serenity of his mother's private quarters. He found no difficulty in passing past the manor house's courtyard enclosures small gate as its guards, leaning lazily against tall spears, dosed in the sunlight. He skirted around the small palisade of earthwork and timber and soon reached a small meadow. He had been here before, as it was a favoured spot where his mother and her ladies often sought refuge away from the bustle of the household. Yet, this was not the young boy's destination; for what lay beyond the meadow was what held his interest. Creeping through the foliage at the meadow's edge, with his short frame hidden by the undergrowth, Godric's eyes widened at the sight before him.

The tiltyard was where the half-dozen household knights of his father's retinue practiced their horsemanship and honed their martial prowess. Godric looked on from the meadow as two mounted knights were being drilled. They stood tall in the saddle and performed each elaborate manoeuvre with seemingly effortless ease, although the padded gambesons they wore were drenched in sweat and the aching arms which held lances, swords and kite-shaped shields alluded to the physical and mental strain they were under. From Godric's position, he could make out the rest of his father's retinue. One was resting in the long grass at the edge of the tiltyard, breathing heavily as he stretched sore limbs. Two more were sparring eagerly with wooden staves, each man testing and advising the other, offering advice even as they attempted to gain the upper hand. The last man was a little distance away, struggling to mount a temperamental and restive horse.

Godric was spellbound. He had dreamed of being just like his father, wielding a sword and riding fearlessly into battle. Whenever the opportunity arose, Godric was often found listening to minstrel tales of daring warriors and mighty heroes. However, he had yet to see knights in practice, as his sickly health often kept him confined to his father's hall.

Eager to see more, the little boy darted forwards from the cover of the meadow, reaching an old cart in which a panoply of training weapons were stacked. Crouching down, he hid unnoticed in its shadows. Godric was grinning as the two knights thundered past him in a skilful, martial dance, grunting with exertion as they twisted their mounts about and the clash of steel rang out as their swords met. He'd never seen anything like it; although it was just like he'd imagined it. His childish eyes sparkling with wonder, Godric realised then that this was where his fate would lead him. One day he would be one of these mounted men, wielding a sword with a legendary prowess which would inspire songs of his exploits. However, his youthful wonderment was quelled as a loud shout reached Godric's ears, and the smile slowly vanished from his face as he recognised the gruff voice with a heavy heart.

The voice belonged to Siward, his father's steward and closest companion, who was currently observing the practicing knights with a shrewd eye. Godric shrank lower at the sight of him. He held a fear of this man and rightly so. Siward was not a mean-spirited man, but he was a giant in stature, standing a head taller than many men and his personality was as hard and harsh as his cold, brutal features. He intimidated many grown men, let alone a six-year-old child. Godric also knew that if Siward found him there, then he'd suffer a beating and one from his father too. Fortunately, for the moment, Siward's dark eyes were solely fixed upon the training men, relying on the skilful eye of a seasoned warrior to advise and admonish them with a voice which rumbled like thunder.

Siward was a veteran of the years before the coming of King William and his Normans, where he had served Sir Edmund's father as a household warrior. In those fateful days, Siward had marched against them and had fought at Senlac Hill. His strength and skill were legendary, and it was rumoured he'd cleaved a knight and his mount in two with one strike of his Danish axe. Yet, it hadn't been enough to stem the tide of defeat. Whilst the invaders had claimed victory, Siward had survived, staggering away from that bloody hill, leaving two sons and his oath-sworn lord dead. Wounded and hurting, he'd reached Black-Hollow days later, and had loyally served his Lord's surviving son ever since with a battered pride and a facial scar that would cause evil spirits and vagabonds to quiver in fear. Godric was right to feel intimidated, but the old man was never unkind and usually ignored the sickly child if Godric was scurrying about in his presence.

His heart hammering, Godric watched engrossed before wisely deciding to retreat to the meadow. Crouching low, he began to edge out from under the cart whilst a distracted Siward was berating one of the mounted men for a mistake. Breathing a sigh of relief, Godric twisted about, preparing to dart towards the sanctuary of the meadow when something caught his eye. A bright flash of sunlight reflecting off polished steel, for a sword was lying discarded in the grass nearby.

Godric paused, staring curiously at the weapon. Glancing back to see that Siward was still distracted, Godric sped off in the direction of the gleaming sword. As he reached it, he stared down at the blade in wonder and unable to resist the temptation, he hesitantly bent down and wrapped his small hands around the worn hilt. The little boy's feeble strength did not hinder his efforts to try and lift the sword and he succeeded in lifting the lower end of the sword, although the sword's heavy blade and blunted tip refused to budge. Frowning, Godric tried again, straining with all his strength to no avail. The sword remained unmoving, proving too heavy and cumbersome for a six-year-old child. Growing frustrated, Godric planted his feet apart and heaved with one last attempt and this time the blade's tip wavered and briefly rose from the ground, before falling quickly with a dull thud as the boy's strength gave out and he stumbled backwards. But Godric beamed at his brief success, feeling a wave of pride wash over him at his achievement as he briefly wondered whether he would one day wield a sword just like this.

The spell was broken by a shrill call from beyond the meadow.

'Godric.'

The little boy stilled, paling considerably. He recognised the voice of the young nursemaid instantly. The call came again, closer this time. The girl sounded stressed and worried, although nothing compared to Godric's own fear as a harsh voice suddenly barked behind him.

'Boy!'

Godric twisted around to find Siward staring at him from the far side of the tiltyard, the nurse's shout having alerted him of the boy's presence. The old warrior took a step towards him, his large hands curling into fists as his anger rose at the sight of the sword in Godric's hands.

'Boy. Come here.' Godric dropped the sword, which landed with a dull thud in the grass. He briefly considered fleeing the scene, but the idea was immediately dispelled by a shout of pain and shock which drew the attention of all those nearby.

'Shit!'

The knight who had been attempting to mount the struggling horse had half succeeded when the beast bucked and flung the poor man away. The knight landed heavily with a cry as the horse suddenly bolted, charging mindlessly towards Godric. Siward quickly realised what would happen, but he was too far away to physically intervene, instead raising his own voice to divert the rampaging animal. Yet, to no avail, for the horse was blinded by panic and continued to bear down on the helpless boy standing transfixed by fear, eyes wide as this monstrous animal galloped towards him. Godric was dimly aware of a high-pitched scream as his nurse entered the clearing; of his father's men calling for him to move. But the little boy could not move, for his world was consumed by the thunderous screaming of the beast charging towards him, its eyes wide with a fear that mirrored his own. There was no time to act, only for Godric to close his eyes and anticipate the collision that would leave his body broken and trampled as the rampaging stallion finally reached him.

Then suddenly there was a loud crack, and Godric felt as if his body was being forcibly dragged and flung to the side. Then silence. Just a sudden, all-encompassing silence. Godric's eyes remained closed, his breathing now laboured as if he'd undergone a sudden exertion. Oddly, there was no pain, just the gentle caress of the spring breeze. The roar and thunder a few heartbeats ago was gone, swiftly disappearing as if it had all occurred a great distance away. Godric took a few unsteady breaths before tentatively opening his eyes, suddenly realising that he was alive and miraculously unharmed.

He was still at the tiltyard; only now it lay between him and the weapons cart. Frowning, Godric could see his nurse standing at the edge of the suddenly far off meadow, her tearful eyes wide and astonished, her hand quivering in front of her mouth as if to muffle a scream that had died on her lips. Beyond her and still galloping towards the distant fields was the beast that should have killed him. Godric noticed his father's men staring, all rendered speechless by his astonishing feat. Even Siward had no words for him. As Godric's gaze fell on the seasoned warrior, he found those dark eyes staring blankly back at him in astonishment. A sudden shuffling beside him caught the little boy's attention and he turned to find the man the bolting horse had injured hastily crawling away. There was something different in this man's eyes, something which didn't reflect shock but an emotion that had never been directed towards the six-year-old. Fear.

'Boy?' Siward said oddly, his voice questioning and unsure. Godric stared unflinchingly back before suddenly his world was spinning and he collapsed to the ground, retching loudly as a loud chorus of shouting rose from the black void that greeted him.

Sir Edmund, the Lord of Black-Hollow, was not in a pleasant mood. His day had started well, but as he was hearing tales of his son's life at court, he had not expected the sudden storm of fear, anger and accusation which had descended upon his family. The cause of it was his second son Godric.

Edmund was rarely an unkind man. He had survived the social changes which had killed, exiled or disinherited many of his fellow countrymen, as well as thriving. He may be Saxon born, and he may resent and lament the harsh treatment of his people in the secrecy of his private chambers, but he was loyal to his King, and his loyalty had been rewarded with land, a beautiful Norman bride and a place at court for his eldest son. It had taken a great degree of tact and patience to secure these rewards, to ignore the jibes and insults of not only the Norman peers who saw him as an upstart and outsider, but the accusations of cowardice and betrayal often flung at him by his own people. He loved his eldest son dearly, was generous to his followers and although their marriage had soured since their wedding day, he remained fond of his placid and whimsical wife.

Godric was a different matter, for when it came to his second son, Edmund could find nothing but loathing and contempt. The boy was useless; so sickly that he could barely leave his mother's skirts and Edmund was resigned to the fact that only a career in the Church or an early grave awaited Godric. He could barely suffer the boy's presence, and felt a deeply ingrained resentment towards the son who had been named after his paternal grandfather. Although they shared an uncanny facial likeness, the similarities ended there. Godric of Black-Hollow had been a hale and hearty man, stronger than most men and a born warrior. Sir Edmund's son was a pale ghost of a boy, an embarrassment in his father's eyes, whose ill health and feeble nature was an insult to Sir Edmund's honour. Sir Edmund would never have suspected that Godric could cause such a tempest of trouble, let alone have potentially ruined the family and all his father's hard-earned success.

The Lord of Black-Hollow strode about his private bedchamber. He was not alone. His wife sat perched on the edge of their marriage bed, distaff forgotten beside her as she wrapped her arms tenderly around her youngest son as if to reassure herself that he was still alive and well. Lady Alys was still a beautiful woman, with long dark hair and bright emerald eyes which had once sparkled with life and energy. However, the shadowy rims now lurking there wove their own tale of unhappiness and discontent. Godric's eyes usually danced with curiosity, especially when he was surrounded by his father's knightly regalia, like the large shield resting against a far wall, emblazoned with a rampant gold lion on a red field. But today his eyes were downcast and his meekness and willingness to be comforted by his mother's coddling behaviour made Edmund want to beat him bloody. Besides his mother and younger brother stood William, Edmund's eldest son. He was thirteen years old, on the cusp of becoming a squire in the king's household and whose loyalty and kind heart and made him a popular companion. Now his smile was missing, and he nervously watched his father pace about the room, unsure of the events which had transpired.

The local parish priest was also present, a man called Father Thomas whose early promise had tempered into disappointment and bitter resentment over his lot in life. He was the kind of man who would heap responsibility for his own misfortunes on the curses of pagans and wild men he believed were envious of his piety and potential. Siward stood behind him, watching silently from the shadows of the chamber's entrance. Slowly, Edmund paused and turned his attention to his old friend,

'Tell the tale again?'

'Devilry!' hissed the priest under his breath, his beady and calculating eyes casting disapproving glares at Godric. Lady Alys scowled at him angrily whilst her husband remained unmoved, awaiting Siward's answer.

'I've already explained, Lord. The boy slipped away from his nurse and wandered down to the tiltyard. We didn't realise he was there until we heard the girl call for him, but by then the horse was bolting…'

'He was watching the men practice? That wouldn't usually escape your attention!' Edmund interrupted waspishly. Siward looked displeased with the criticism, but nodded reluctantly.

'He's small for a boy. The girl should have kept better notice of his whereabouts.'

'The girl's already been punished. I whipped her myself.' Edmund grunted darkly, remembering how he had vented his fury by taking a belt to the weeping girl's back. When she'd been beaten bloody and lay whimpering at his feet, he'd callously discharged her from his service. Having to find a new nurse was just another problem the boy had caused. His wife's eye's burned with displeasure and revulsion at her husband's actions. Siward simply shrugged, unmoved by the girl's fate.

'The boy tried to slip away when he noticed me, but he was distracted by a discarded sword one of the lads had dropped. He'd been trying to lift it when I was alerted to his presence. By then the horse was bolting and it was too late to intervene. The beast went straight for him. There was nothing any of us could do to stop him being killed, and the boy seemed rooted to the spot, stricken by fear.' He paused, and glanced at Godric, gesturing helplessly, 'Then he wasn't there. The dust had yet to settle and I thought he was surely dead. But when one of the lad's cried out and I turned and saw him standing on the other side of the yard, alive and not a scratch on him…I'm sorry Lord, but I don't know how he did it. One moment he was there and likely to be killed; the next, he's disappeared.'

Silence followed as Siward's tale settled on the occupants. It was Father Thomas who broke it, his eyes fixed expectantly on the Lord of Black-Hollow.

'The Church won't accept him. Not after this.'

'Why?' demanded Edmund,

'You think he can take holy vows with an affliction like this?'

'Then what would you advise?' Edmund growled, and the priest shrugged, his eyes glinting maliciously,

'I do not seek to influence your judgement, Lord. However, it is our sacred duty to ensure that this demon does not escape him and bring further evil and ill-will down upon others.' He paused, running his tongue over dry lips, 'Perhaps a swift end would suffice. It's the only way to be sure!'

'Father…' William began, but his horrified interruption was overshadowed by his mother's reaction.

'No!' cried Alys, passing Godric to his brother and leaping to her feet. She stepped protectively in front of her young child, shielding him from the priest. Edmund flinched in surprise at the sudden outburst from his usually placid wife.

'You do not understand,' he said evasively.

'I will not hear of it.' Alys cried again, throwing aside her placid reputation and glaring angrily at Father Thomas, who returned it with equal contempt, 'I will not allow it!'

'You will continue to harbour this affliction?' Father Thomas spat, 'You would willingly encourage the evil that lies within the boy…'

'Silence, you foul toad!'

'Insolent woman,' the priest snarled, looking outraged by the insult. However, his outburst was suddenly cut short as a heavy hand clamped painfully down upon his shoulder. Glancing back, he found Siward looming over him, glaring down with fire in his eyes. Siward was loyal to the Lord of Black-Hollow and respectful to the Church, but the thought of harming a young child did not sit well with the aging warrior.

'Hold your tongue.' He growled and the threat in his voice discouraged any argument. The priest breathed deeply as if preparing to continue trading insults, but he valued his own skin and was clearly intimidated by Siward's size. He nodded, breaking free of Siward's grip and stepping back to broodingly fix Alys with an icy glare. She returned it tenfold before turning to her husband, who had remained silent throughout the confrontation as he stared impassively at his youngest son.

'You have stayed oddly silent, husband?' she said bitingly. Edmund looked up, but couldn't hold her gaze for long. The priest's words had wormed their way into a heart already undermined by contempt and fear at what the boy could do; at what this dreaded feat meant. With a shake of his head, he murmured softly,

'What else can we do?'

Alys looked at him in disbelief, appalled.

'You agree with this snake?' she accused him,

'What would you have me do?' Edmund retaliated, his own voice rising as anger came to his defence. Alys was still on her feet and her rage, rising from a place within her soul she had long ago forgotten existed. Gone was the serene and dutiful wife of a minor noble. In her place stood a fiery shieldmaiden from the pagan legends of her sea-raiding ancestors, her passive nature replaced by an impassioned, righteous fury.

'I will not let you touch my child!' she snarled, 'so what if the Church refuses him. He is still our son and there are other lives he could lead. Maybe it is not my son who is at fault, but the Church that is not good enough for my son!'

'Blasphemy!' spat the priest, but his declaration was ignored by the Lord and Lady of Black-Hollow as they stared furiously at each other.

'The boy will have to make his own way in the world,' Edmund declared stubbornly, 'if the Church will not have him, then he'll have no charity from me.'

'Boy! Always boy and never Godric, the name you bestowed upon him at birth. The boy named after your father. He will make his own way, like his grandfather before him. Our son has heart Edmund. I have seen it. You simply choose to ignore it, like you ignore his very existence. I will accept it no more. I have already sacrificed William to your ambitions, and I am proud of his achievements. He's a good boy and he'll be an accomplished man. But given the chance then so will Godric.'

'With this affliction?' Edmund growled, gesturing wildly at his son who whimpered and shuffled backwards to distance himself from his father. This only served to fuel the man's anger further, 'you think this weakling will achieve anything other than an early grave with a devil like this possessing him?'

'There is no demon! Can't you see that?' Alys told her husband, 'can't he see that he is just like his uncle!'

Edmund seemed to swell in rage at the mere mention of the man his wife had dared to speak of, despite him being her brother.

'What has that man got to do with this?' He growled threateningly, his voice now low and as cold as steel.

'Everything!' replied his wife in the same tone, 'Are you blind to see that the same power flows in their veins, the same legacy. If you will not support your son, then why not send him to my brother…'

'No,' Edmund suddenly roared, striding forwards until he looked down at his wife with violent eyes, 'I will not send the boy to him. I will not have that man meddling in my affairs. Do you really wish to see our son sent to a man who openly consorts with spirits and elves? A man who has laid with beasts; by God have you heard of that woman he married? Have you heard the rumours of what she is?'

'Alain's life is not our concern and I will not have you decry him. He is a man of honour who deserves our respect…'

'He is nothing to me!'

'Just like our son?' Aly's responded, the fiery passion giving way to tears of anguish as she suddenly grasped her husband's robes, 'I beg you, send him away from here, for he will know nothing but hurt if he stays. Send him to my brother.' As his mother begged for his life, Godric, confused by the turmoil around him, saw his father's hand twitch towards the sword perched beside the chamber's window. He glared coldly down at her,

'I will not send him to that sorcerer,' he snarled contemptuously, 'the boy will die by my own hand before I ever agree to send him to that butcher.'

'Bastard,' gasped Alys out, her inner fire flaring, 'you cold, heartless bastard.'

'Besides,' Edmund continued piteously, 'the boy's most likely responsible for your barrenness. His birth almost killed you. Maybe if it wasn't for this evil in him then we would have been gifted with more sons, and his death would be of no concern…'

He went silent as Alys launched forwards and slapped him hard across the face with all the force she could muster. Silence descended on the chambers occupants. Then Edmund slowly turned back to face his wife, his features darkening quicker than the reddening mark on his cheek. Guessing his father's intentions, William hastily stepped in front of Godric's line of sight, not wanting his younger brother to witness what was about to happen.

The first blow sent Alys crashing to the floor with a cry. Aly's hazily attempted to rise, but her husband's second blow drove her face into the scented rushes with a pained grunt. Edmund stood over her, his breathing distorted by his fury. He slowly began to unbuckle his large leather belt, still bloodstained from the beating he had given the maid.

'Father,' a shocked William attempted to intervene, but came to an abrupt halt when Edmund's hand jerked in his direction. His father had never raised his hand towards his beloved eldest son before. Suddenly Aly's was on her knees and was reaching out towards William. A cut lip was sending a slow trickle of blood down her chin before falling to the crumpled rushes at their feet and her face was already swelling, but Alys managed to catch William's face in her hands and whispered to him urgently,

'No, no William, listen to me. Everything's fine, take Godric back to your bedchamber, take him away from here.' William hesitated, fear dancing in his eyes. He'd never experienced anything like this. He heard a sniffling whimper behind him, for Godric had burst into tears. Understanding his mother's wishes and realising the danger his father's temper posed to Godric, he nodded and submitted to his mother's demands. Seeing tears mingling with blood on his mother's beautiful face made him hesitate, but a heavy hand swiftly steered him towards the door. Father Thomas was already gone, having left at the first sign of violence, a malicious smirk adorning his features. But Siward remained and he dragged both boys from the room, his face grimmer than they had ever seen it. As Godric was steered past the rampant lion shield, he spotted a crimson stain blemishing its finery. His mother's blood. A swift crack and an agonised cry rang out, echoing down the small corridor behind them.

The atmosphere in the manor was dark and subdued, the earlier gaiety of jovial festivities giving way to fear and speculation as rumours concerning the lord's youngest son spread like wildfire. Siward deposited them in their private quarters but didn't linger, looking concerned and muttering under his breath about having a much-needed word with Father Thomas as he left.

The silence between the two brothers was strained. Whilst William's frustration and worry were obvious, Godric remained tearful and subdued, as silent tears slid unchecked down his face, not wanting to risk stirring his brother's ire. Eventually deciding it would be best to occupy his frayed mind, William left, but swiftly returned with a small platter of sweetmeats and other delicacies that he had charmed Black-Hollow's cook into giving him. He found Godric curled up and still weeping quietly. Sympathy swelled William's heart as he sat beside his brother and gently put an arm around the younger boy. Godric stiffened for a moment, before accepting his brother's support. After a while, a small voice choked out,

'I'm sorry.' William looked down at him sadly,

'It's not your fault Godric.'

'If I hadn't snuck away…'

'There's a lot of things that shouldn't have happened today,' the older boy shrugged, 'sneaking away because you wanted to watch the knights plying their trade was far from the worst.'

'Will mother be alright?' Godric asked after a pause, sounding so desperate that it caused William's voice to stumble,

'Of…of course she will.' His reply sounded hollow and devoid of comfort, even to himself. In truth, William was just as confused as his younger brother. He had suspected that his parent's relationship was strained and had known that a husband held the right to beat his wife if she deserved it. He had seen it before at the King's court and had heard rumours of such men. The revulsion he felt at seeing the wives and whores of courtiers sporting bruised and bloodied faces flooded him again as he remembered his mother's own battered face.

More puzzling was the strange mention of their uncle and the extent of their father's hatred for him. William had never crossed paths with Lord Alain of Avalon. However, rumours abounded about who and what his uncle was, most of which a simple page like William didn't dare to believe. Even his uncle's wife was a cause for gossip and it was claimed that she was no woman at all, but a creature born from the heathen world of myth and magic. William often scoffed at these fanciful tales, but now he questioned his own instincts.

William knew that his uncle rarely lingered at court before returning to his mysterious lands, despite the King trusting his counsel. After all, Lord Alain was a figure who was both greatly admired and fiercely maligned. William shuddered at the thought of his earnest little brother following a similar path. However, would such a road be any worse than following in their father's footsteps by staining their hands with innocent blood.

The older boy glanced down at Godric again, who was picking absentmindedly at the meagre platter. Did Godric share an unknown legacy with their strange uncle? Did he possess a power that William could only dream of possessing and would he be feared and endangered by it? William's face hardened with determination; if his brother was in danger then William would help him. He would protect Godric from harm, even if that meant defying the father he loved. His arm tightened around Godric's shoulders and he ruffled the smaller boy's hair playfully,

'Tell me about your adventure little brother? What did you think of our knights?' William had barely finished when Godric responded enthusiastically, causing his brother to laugh aloud at the eagerness in which his brother wiped away at stray tears and began retelling the tale.

Later that night, Godric woke from a fitful sleep to discover a shadowy figure sat beside him, softly stroking his hair. A nearby candle still burned dimly in the whispery light, but the gentleness she applied to the caress told him that it was his mother before his blurred sight had cleared. He saw her smile when she realised he was awake, her face still half shielded by the shadows. She placed a finger to her lips, telling him to be silent. His brother stirred next to him but did not wake from his slumber. She offered William's sleeping form a warm and fond smile, before turning back to Godric.

'You should be asleep little one,' she admonished him softly.

'I was worried about you,' he admitted in a whisper, 'and the night-terrors will not go away.'

'I'm here now and perfectly fine,' her voice quivered slightly at the lie, but Godric didn't notice. He merely stared tiredly up at his mother, content in her presence.

'I don't want to be different,' he admitted quietly, blurting out his fears to her like he could never do to anyone else.

'It cannot be helped,' Alys whispered soothingly, 'but this difference doesn't define you, Godric. It is your choices that determine what man you will become. You have been given a gift. You should treasure it.'

'I want to be a knight. I want to have a horse and a sword' She chuckled fondly at his earnestness. She leant down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead,

'You can be whatever you want to be,' she assured him gently.

'Will you stay with me?'

'Always,' she smiled fondly at him, 'I'll be here whenever you need me.' Godric nodded before his eyes began to close again, exhaustion from the day's trials finally taking their toll. Alys watched him as he slept, her hand still resting in his soft auburn hair as she smiled sadly down at him. She maintained her silent vigil long into the night, simply content to watch her little boy dream.

'Sleep Godric,' she whispered softly, tears glistening in the flickering candle light as they streamed down her bruised and swollen face. Soon she would seek out the healing salves and poultices she stored hidden in her chamber, but she would stay a little longer beside her sleeping sons, 'you have heart, little knight. Never lose your courage, for one day you will face trials and tests which would claim the hearts of lesser men. You will be your own man, Godric, and you will conquer every challenge you encounter. One day you will make us all proud, my brave little lion.'

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So here is the prologue to Book One of my Founders Series. Book One is called 'The Heart of a Lion', and will be the first story following the life of Godric Gryffindor as he attempts to survive in the brutal world of medieval magic. As the keen eyed may have noticed, I have set this series in the late eleventh-century, about a hundred years later than Rowling's dating. The reasons for this are numerous, the foremost being that it's for creative purposes. The landscape of British culture and society changed dramatically following the Battle of Hastings in 1066, and the narrative opportunities this provides were too enticing to be ignored. I'll try and stick as close to real history as I can, and you can expect to see real historical figures and events popping up from time to time, as well as Rowling's creations and my own. Using Rowling's foundations, I'll also try and provide a colourful and hopefully realistic take on what the magical world of the Harry Potter Series would have been like in the medieval period. My aim is to write seven 'books', and whilst Godric is the principal protagonist, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and especially Salazar Slytherin will all play a huge part in the story. If anyone has any questions, advice or even criticisms then feel free to message me and I'll try my best to get back in touch, or leave a review. I honestly feel passionate about these stories and I've spent a lot of time researching and creating this world so that I can do not just myself, but the readers and fundamentally J.K. Rowling proud.


	2. Chapter One: The King's Coronation

**The King's Coronation**

Westminster, 1087

Godric stood alone in the courtyards of the great palace of Westminster. Around him strode the kingdom's most powerful men, going about their business amongst the fervent preparations for the new king's upcoming coronation. Strangely, the current atmosphere lacked the air of celebration that Godric had anticipated on the long road from Black-Hollow. Instead, it was tense and hostile. Magnates stalked past each other like wolves, hands clasped on sword hilts and their eyes radiating distrust. Even allies and friends spoke in guarded tones, unsure of prying eyes and idle tongues.

A knight emerged from the gates, sat astride a large warhorse. As the beast passed it came perilously close to shunting Godric aside. The knight barely spared the boy a glance before bluntly dismissing him,

'Fuck off!' The grunted command sent Godric scurrying to the edge of the courtyard and away from the assembling noblemen, his father's earlier warning ringing in his ears.

'Don't wander off,' he'd ordered the boy on their arrival. His father's stern gaze had held a hidden threat and Godric feared his father's wrath more than any knight. The will to obey his father's wishes had been beaten into him from a young age, so he remained in the courtyard, waiting nervously in the shadows of the palace's outer wall. He rubbed at eyes which had been irritated by the dust and dirt of a long ride from Black-Hollow to Westminster. His father's small retinue had made good progress along dusty and dangerous roads. The majesty of the surrounding landscape had been lost upon the boy huddled protectively amidst the small body of armed men and Godric had barely lifted his gaze to see St Peter's Abbey looming on the distant horizon. Instead, his green eyes were downcast and stinging from the dust and overpowering stench of sweat and horseshit which clung to the road. When he dared to lift them, all he'd seen was the billowing crimson of his father's cloak as the Lord of Black-Hollow rode at the front of the retinue.

They were a sombre group, and they didn't possess the patience to deal with an inquisitive boy. The retinue was comprised of eight hardened men, all riding in close formation. Hands clasped long lances tightly and shields hung ready at their sides, each bearing the worn image of a rampant golden lion on a field of red. Eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, for these were dangerous times and unsuspecting men would soon find themselves at the mercy of outlaws, robber knights and even fouler vagabonds. It was an uncertain time, for a new king was to be crowned.

Godric remembered the brief conversation he had held with his father in Black-Hollow's cold and austere hall. The boy had initially been jubilant, for his father rarely sought his companionship and Godric loathed the harsh lessons he was forced to endure under Father Thomas's harsh tutoring. However, the jubilation was immediately extinguished. Only the crackling hearth fire and the growls of his father's hounds as they feasted upon scraps from the last meal broke the hall's silence. Godric had hesitated, before summoning the courage to approach his father, who sat broodingly in his great seat. Godric noticed that his father's usual glare was tinged with weariness, but he still didn't dare meet the man's gaze. Siward moved silently to stand behind Sir Edmund.

'The King is dead'. Godric's head had shot up in astonishment. King William was dead? It was no wonder his father appeared so troubled. Godric suddenly remembered seeing a messenger from Thanesfell that morning, hastily breaking his fast before riding away to deliver the urgent message to Sir Edmund's neighbours. The King was dead!

'How?' Godric had squeaked. His father had been tapping the table absentmindedly,

'He was dealing with another revolt in Mantes when his horse was spooked. The godforsaken beast threw him against his saddle's pommel, and it ruptured his gut. He died in Rouen.'

Godric's mouth gaped in surprise. The Conqueror was a warrior king and he had survived countless battles and rebellions. It seemed odd that he'd died in such an unlikely manner. Godric noticed that his father seemed genuinely aggrieved at the news; whilst he noticed a satisfied smile flicker at the corner of the usually stoic Siward's lips. The old warrior even spat on the scented floor rushes in disbelief when his father continued, claiming that the old King had been repentant for the sins he had committed against the English people. If Sir Edmund saw, he chose to ignore it. Instead, he had fixed Godric with an intense glare,

'The kingdom will go to Rufus whilst Curthose gets Normandy. The fool deserves it. No man who rebels against his own father should be a king. Curthose may be the eldest but when it comes to ruling a kingdom, I'm glad we've landed Rufus. The messenger who arrived last night brought news that I have been summoned to the coronation. As my son and heir, I want you to attend also.'

Godric supressed his delight at the opportunity, for his father practically spat the words. The misfortune which had befallen the Lord of Black-Hollow was a wretched and well-known tale. Two years following the incident in which Godric had miraculously survived an encounter with a bolting horse, his mother had fallen pregnant once again. His parents were overjoyed at the news, especially his father, as they had long since given up hope that his mother could conceive in her delicate state. The months that followed were some of the happiest times Godric had known. The fractures in the fraught relationship which had characterised his parent's marriage had somewhat healed, and Sir Edmund had even treated Godric with the respect a son deserved, rather than the contempt he had previously displayed.

Then the dark times arrived. One day his mother had retired early to her quarters, feeling faint. Before they knew it her health had deteriorated, and she had sickened. As her fever grew worse she miscarried the baby; a small boy, although Godric could scarcely tell when he'd glimpsed the tiny bundle being carried past by a tearful servant. Screams of anguish and pain had echoed around the manor. The situation became so desperate that the midwife dared to suggest that Sir Edmund should send for Lord Alain of Avalon, for he was rumoured to be skilled in healing lore. Sir Edmund had dismissed her advice and loudly banished her from Black-Hollow.

Two days later the Lady Alys was dead. Godric barely remembered the weeks which followed. Only the vigil over his mother's body was etched into his memory. Her eyes were closed as if she peacefully rested in a gentle slumber and her pale skin seemed to glow in an otherworldly fashion. His father had mourned Alys, although some believed that his grief was more for the lost child than his dead wife. Alys had been buried in a hurried ceremony at the local churchyard and life had moved on.

Unfortunately, worse was to come. Only a few months had passed before a messenger had arrived directly from the King's court bearing grave news. William, Godric's elder brother and his father's pride and joy, was dead. He had been killed in a freak accident whilst hunting with his friends. At this news, Sir Edmund had fallen into a dark depression, consigning himself to his chamber and refusing to leave. With William's death, Sir Edmund's familial ambitions seemed to die with him and he grieved for his beloved son more than he ever did his late wife. Wallowing in drunkenness and depression, Sir Edmund would rant and brooded on the manner of William's death. His eldest son had been a proud and confident horseman and Sir Edmund could not hide his disbelief that William had been felled by a fall from the saddle.

'He would not fall!' Sir Edmund would growl darkly, forgetting the existence of his surviving son and leaving Godric to grieve alone.

Until the rumours began. Looking back, Godric suspected that they had originated from the local priest, who had hated Godric for many years and believed that the young boy harboured evil. Father Thomas would cuff him, sneer at him from the shadows and breed intolerance for the strange occurrences which plagued Godric. When the young boy finally summoned what fleeting courage he could muster to confront the vile man about his unreasonable behaviour, his answer was always the same.

'Whoreson,' Father Thomas would hiss so venomously that Godric cowered away from the spittle that showered over him, 'just like the rest of your heathen kind, Devil!'

Godric didn't know what the implied insult meant, but he was so scared that he didn't dare tell his father, fearing another beating from the grief-stricken and unstable man. Instead, he suffered from the torment in silence, his youthful spirit crumbling with every insult or taunt hissed at him. He ignored the raging emotion within him which longed to break free and run rampant, shackling it in chains and burying it deep within his tortured soul. Godric had noticed his father's servants speaking in hushed whispers, fearing and cursing his presence. Soon, they refused to serve him altogether. He had tried to ignore it, but the accusation in people's eyes gradually began to bother him and amidst his anger and hurt, it grew more and more difficult to control his abilities.

Strange happenings in Godric's presence became commonplace. As they grew in number, so did the antagonism towards him. Only this time his mother and brother were gone, the two who had sheltered and defended Godric the most. His father, grief-stricken and wallowing in despair, locked himself away in his private chambers and remained ignorant of the hate and fear surrounding his son. Eventually, matters came to a head when Godric was attacked as he walked back from a brief visit to the small meadow his mother had enjoyed frequenting. An unknown assailant had launched a stone at the young boy, striking him on the head and knocking him unconscious. Godric didn't know who it was, but he had his suspicions. It was most likely the violent Fletcher boy who terrorised Black-Hollow's children alongside his bullying cronies. However, Godric would not have been surprised to learn that Father Thomas had influenced the attack. Fortunately, Godric had escaped the incident with nothing more than a bloodied and bruised scalp and an increasingly prevalent fear which crippled the young boy's heart.

However, the incident was the final straw for Siward. The old warrior had served Godric's grandfather, and his fearsome reputation as a formidable fighter had not dulled with the onset of old age. Once he had stumbled upon Godric's unconscious body, he had stormed to Sir Edmund's chamber and demanded entry. No one witnessed what followed, but Sir Edmund finally returned to the world afterwards. His household was called into his hall, where he declared Godric to be his heir so that any attack on him, despite his peculiarities, would now be deemed an attack on Sir Edmund himself.

Life slowly returned to normality, although Black-Hollow remained a cold and gloomy place. Godric's position as heir to the manor gave him a safeguard against future attack, although he was still feared by Black-Hollow's inhabitants and other than ordering Godric to begin the duties and training expected of a knight's page, his father continued to ignore him. As time passed Godric managed to acquire a little control over his outbursts; to the extent that he now believed he'd finally put a stop to the strange happenings which haunted him.

Upon reaching Westminster, Godric's father had been summoned into the new King's presence and Godric had been left to his own devices once they had reached the royal palace.

'Don't wander off,' he had told him sternly, before leaving him alone in an intimidating environment. That had been over an hour earlier, and Sir Edmund had yet to reappear. Sighing, Godric leant against a wall and waited in sullen silence. Merry shouts rose nearby and the sharp sound of steel upon steel rang out. Hiding a yawn, Godric gazed in their direction to find a group of youths assembled together, most likely the squires of rich and powerful magnates. The group of boys were friends, as they laughed and joked together. Two were dressed in padded gambesons and carried swords, their edges of the blades blunted to avoid severe injury. Godric felt a pang of loneliness at the sight. No companion of a similar age existed in Black-Hollow's bleak halls; no one who could offer friendly companionship to a boy who desperately needed it. The camaraderie exhibited by the squires was an alien concept to Godric.

The two boys paused to acknowledge each other before they sprang forward and traded more blows. This was a mock bout to test their skill, and the presence of so many powerful magnates may potentially lead to a future patron, or even royal favour if they were fortunate. The sport was already luring a crowd, as many men paused in their duties to cast a critical eye on the sparring youths. However, what appeared amateurish to older and experienced eyes was dazzling to an impressionable eleven-year-old like Godric.

Godric was not ignorant in his knowledge of war. Over the last few years, his father had demanded that the boy should be tutored in horsemanship and swordplay, and Siward was charged with teaching him the basics of how to wield a sword and lance. Yet, Godric remained physically weak and undersized, and his confidence was practically non-existent. He often shied away from contests and hesitated most at the same moment he should strike. It was a constant source of frustration for Siward, and his sharp words and harsh insults served only to drive the boy further into his shell.

Despite this, as time slowly passed the advice which the old warrior drilled into him were slowly engraved into Godric's mind. Siward also sought to teach Godric the wrestling manoeuvres and brawling tactics more suited to wielding an axe than a sword. This was the old warriors preferred weapon of choice, much to Sir Edmund's chagrin, and regardless of Godric always finishing second best, he occasionally displayed the briefest flicker of promise.

Now the old warrior was frequenting the local taverns with his English comrades, released from their duties for enough time to raise a cup of ale to the Old King William's death. Meanwhile, his father remained in the presence of the man who would soon be crowned king of England, leaving Godric unsupervised. Godric soon found himself amongst the crowd watching the mock bout. Unlike the amusement felt by most of the audience, Godric looked on keenly. The two boys disengaged to collect a welcome breath before swinging into action again, their swords whirling until they clashed together. A few more blows were traded before they sprang away, smiles beaming from reddened faces, each combatant taking a moment to sense an opening in their opponent's defence. The crowd acknowledged the display with applause and as Godric looked around him at the hardened faces of these warlike men, his gaze landed momentarily on a boy standing slightly apart from the crowd.

He was tall and wiry, although he could only be Godric's senior by a year or two. He wore a dark, expensively tailored tunic and a coat-of-arms was emblazoned on his breast. Long, sleek dark hair crowned his regal head. His grey eyes made Godric pause, for unlike most of the crowd they seemed indifferent to the spectacle before him. His narrow features were guarded and seemingly expressionless, although after a moment his age betrayed him, and he was unable to fully hide the mocking disdain that filtered through the indifferent mask. Then suddenly the boy frowned and those grey eyes shifted before laying to rest on Godric. Their eyes locked as Godric felt a chill shiver run down his spine and the hairs rose on the nape of his neck. For a disquieting moment, Godric felt the demon stir. The boy's eyes widened, before Godric broke the connection, quickly turning his attention back to the mock fight before him. He could feel the boy's gaze still on him as Godric internally wrestled with the demon, attempting with difficulty to subdue it and regain control. The man beside Godric shifted uncomfortably.

Godric breathed deeply and with one last internal wrench managed to thrust the demon back. He could still sense its presence, lurking in the shadows of his soul, biding its time and waiting for the chance to unleash its power. Godric glanced back to where he'd last seen the boy. He was still there, although the look he levelled at Godric was now curious rather than baleful. Unnerved by the intense scrutiny, he had the sudden urge to flee the compound and disobey his father's commands. He would return to their camp and await his father's displeasure there, or maybe chance the bawdy atmosphere of the local taverns in search of Siward.

Godric gulped. Summoning his meagre courage, he slipped through the crowded ranks of noblemen around him. Darting towards the gates, he chanced another look at the boy, who was now keenly following his progress and had started towards him hurriedly. Panic gripped him. His father had explicitly told him not to draw attention to himself or exhibit any signs of the malevolent spirit lurking within him. He could imagine his father's reaction to this revelation and the pain that usually accompanied his father's displeasure. With his mind solely fixed on this, Godric failed to see a figure standing casually in front of him and who suddenly impeded his progress as Godric barrelled straight into him.

Godric grunted painfully as he collided with the man's hip, falling back heavily. The man spluttered at the sudden impact and whilst Godric's size wasn't enough to unbalance him, it spilled the contents of the flagon of wine all over his expensive tunic. The man's companions stepped away quickly to avoid the wine before gaping in surprise at their drenched friend, although an astonished chuckle escaped some at the sight.

'What the fuck…' the man growled angrily. Godric, unhurt from the collision, rushed to his feet in a frenzied attempt to escape, but one look at the man before him caused a wave of fear and uncertainty to overwhelm him. His feet seemed to turn to stone. The man was huge, both tall and broad, whilst his powerfully built frame and once expensive robes confirmed his knightly status. Eyes the colour of cold steel turned and focused on Godric, narrowing into a scowl.

'You little bastard!' He hissed from behind clenched teeth. The towering figure's face was reddening in rage, a stark contrast to Godric's increasingly pale complexion.

'I'm sorry…' Godric attempted to stutter as the man stepped threateningly towards him.

'You've made me look like a fool, little puppy dog!' the man said coldly, looming over the unfortunate boy. Again, Godric attempted to apologise, but was suddenly shoved back with such force that it almost flung him from his feet. Stumbling back, Godric looked around frantically, searching for potential allies. The sparring youths had paused at the first signs of commotion, and now the crowd, starved of spectacle, were staring in his direction. Some watched on pityingly, whilst others even smiled darkly in anticipation. Most looked grim, although no one stepped forward to defend him.

Another shove sent him sprawling. Godric was quivering with fear as he scrambled to his feet again, staring desperately at his assailant.

'Do you seek to dishonour the House of Bellême?' The man snarled, his tone dangerous. Godric stared at him in confusion; the name alien to him. The boy's utter bemusement at the declaration appeared to anger the man further.

'I'm sorry,' he spluttered, 'It was an acci…'

The apology was cut short when a hand shot out and struck him hard across the face. Godric's mind exploded, and when his vision cleared he was once again sprawled upon the ground, his head pounding from the blow. His attacker was standing over him, staring balefully down.

'Do you know who I am, little runt?' Godric simply shook his head, his mind whirling. He heard a growl, then a hardened boot connected with his stomach and sent him rolling away in agony as he desperately gasped for breath. Winded, Godric glanced about him, hoping to find at least one erstwhile ally who would feel enough pity and courage to stop his opponent's onslaught. Once again, he found no one willing to intervene on his behalf. He did see the strange boy who encouraged his flight looking on with growing concern. Then suddenly Godric's gaze landed on his father, who had just emerged from the palace wearing a rare smile. Hope stirred in him as his father paused, paling considerably upon recognising the beaten boy and the ghost of a smile vanished immediately. Edmund instinctively took a hesitant step forward, and then stopped, his face hardening.

Godric's hope died instantly. If his father was hesitant to intervene and acknowledge that Godric was his son and heir, then no one would. A stray tear whelmed and began to fall as a wave of fear and humiliation washed over the young boy. Yet, anger was there as well, a rage fuelled by the desperation of his circumstance. The demon within him raised its head and growled, sensing an opportunity. A shadow descended on Godric, and he turned to find Bellême standing over him, his fists clenched, and his face contorted in contempt.

'Look how the little puppy weeps,' he spat in disgust, 'you are nothing but a piece of shit beneath my boots. You have made me look a fool. Kiss my boot in apology and acknowledge that you are beneath me, and then run along to the bitch that whelped you before I send you back to her in pieces.' Godric's eyes narrowed, the demon struggling against its weakening constraints. He was furious at the mention of his mother. Rising unsteadily to his feet, Godric's eyes met Bellême's, and for the first time in his short life, his expression displayed defiance. A potent tempest of emotions battled within him, all fighting for control. However, rage emerged the victor and Godric spat out a mixture of bloodied saliva from his mouth; directly onto the boot Bellême had instructed him to shamefully kiss.

There was a sudden intake of breath from those surrounding them. Even Bellême's cohorts appeared stunned by this act of misplaced bravado, for they had just witnessed a boy do what no man there would dare to do. For the briefest moment Bellême's face contorted, twisting violently before becoming as cold as stone; the face of a killer. Godric saw the flash of a short blade being unsheathed; an arm being brought back and flung forwards with murderous intent. He moved to avoid it, an instinct drilled into him by Siward's stern tutorship. He was slow; far too slow. He knew that it was too late to avoid the blade being thrust towards him. Godric's eyes closed, waiting for the dagger to be plunged into his body. But at the moment of impact, the internal restraints Godric had imposed upon his demon finally unravelled. Untethered, unrestrained and now suddenly rampant, it roared to life and surged forwards with undiluted glee.

'No,' Godric cried and flung out a hand as the knife came within a whisper of his body, embracing the sudden surge of power that ran unchecked through his body. It had built up over years of abuse and now it was unleashed. The demon obeyed him in delight, surging from his outstretched hand in a torrent of colour. A gust of wind swirled around them, before it barrelled into his assailant. Godric saw Bellême register what was happening, but his astonishment hindered his reactions and he was sent stumbling backwards until he sprawled in the mud.

Godric was unsteady on his feet, his ears ringing as he suddenly felt terribly drained. He found his audience gaping at him in stunned silence, the greatest magnates and clerics of the realm watching on in shock. In his weary state, Godric summoned the courage to spare his father a glance. Edmund's face was deathly pale, although his eyes betrayed the tempest of rage he was struggling to contain.

The scrape of a sword being freed from a scabbard drew Godric's attention away from his father. Bellême was now standing, a drawn sword gleaming in his hand and, more oddly, a long stick held threateningly in the other. A group of men, obviously loyal to Bellême, were now at his back and glaring at the small boy menacingly.

'I'll geld you,' he breathed slowly, choking on his wrath and starting forward with murderous intent, 'I'll cut off your balls for that.' Godric stumbled hastily away, his exhausted limbs immediately rebelling. Bellême reached him in two long strides, the sword rising and the stick crackling with power. The crowd murmured in excitement, sensing blood sport and to which there was no escape.

A loud voice rang out before the sword could begin its murderous descent,

'Enough!'

Godric's eyes sprang open, having closed them in anticipation of Bellême's killing blow. His assailant paused and Godric, hesitant to take his eyes off the blade hovering over him, quickly glanced at his rescuer to find the strange boy striding confidently through the crowd towards them. Upon reaching them, the boy came to an elegant halt, purposefully standing between Bellême and Godric. He bowed courteously to the older man,

'Sir Robert of Bellême,' he said, 'I apologise for intervening, but I believe there's been a misunderstanding.'

'Get out of my way,' Bellême warned him, the tip of the stick in his left-hand crackling menacingly. The boy ignored it, seemingly unmoved by the threat.

'I'm afraid I cannot.'

'If you don't move, I'll gut you before I deal with that miserable little shit. Now move!'

'I don't think any more blood needs to be spilt today,' replied the boy, his tone remaining respectful. Bellême let out a primal growl and stepped forward so that his great size towered over the two boys.

'Do you realise who you're speaking to boy?'

'Well, it's rather obvious,' the boy said smoothly, 'you're a famous and recognisable man, Sir Robert.'.

'If you recognise me,' Bellême said, his eyes narrowing, 'then you know that I will not be denied my revenge.'

'Revenge?' the boy exclaimed, somehow finding the confidence to laugh, 'this isn't some barbaric feud, Sir Robert. From my vantage point, it appeared to be nothing more than an unfortunate accident committed by a foolish boy.' Bellême's sword hand twitched,

'I demand blood,' the knight snarled furiously. His comrades stepped forwards, ready to intercede on their lord's behalf. To Godric's astonishment, his erstwhile saviour refused to back down. He merely smiled confidently at the forceful display,

'Not his blood,' the boy replied calmly, 'he's under my master's protection!'

'Who…' a frowning Bellême asked before his eyes flashed down, for the first time noticing the coat-of-arms emblazoned on the strange boy's breast. He stilled, his eyes narrowing in barely contained rage. For the briefest of moments, it seemed Bellême thought that revenge may be worth the risk and the stick in his hand sparked ominously. The boy's smile widened,

'Even an idiot wouldn't be foolish enough to insult one of the most dangerous men in the kingdom,' he said, 'especially not one with your unique tastes.'

'That may be,' Bellême said harshly, 'but an attack on me will not go unpunished.'

Bellême suddenly moved and the stick in his hand rose up until it pointed at a cowering Godric from over the strange boy's shoulder. There was a flash and Godric felt a sharp sting as something hot grazed his cheek. He stumbled back, yelping painfully. But at the same moment and lost in the clamour rising around them, came a distinct hiss, followed by a surprised cry of pain. The sinister smile which had fleetingly flashed across Bellême's face disappeared as he began to hop on one leg, his sword clattering to the ground as he clutched at his foot. In the disarray, Godric was certain he saw a creature which resembled a small snake slither beneath the feet of the watching crowd until it vanished. Suddenly the crowd was laughing, roaring at the sight of the infamous Bellême prancing about in agony. None more so than the man who had just stepped out of the palace to investigate the commotion. Built like a natural soldier and garbed flamboyantly, his ruddy face was beaming at Bellême's antics and his booming laugh echoed across the courtyard. A satisfied grin flickered at the strange boy's lips,

'That was ill-advised, Sir Robert,' he muttered, a touch of disdain in his voice. Bellême's followers scowled at the boy's arrogance, and hands dropped to their sword hilts, suddenly threatening further violence. But Bellême barked out a swift command which brought his followers to a swift halt. Limping slightly, Bellême stood tall and ignored the agony seething through his foot, his face contorted with pain and anger.

'You'll regret the enemy you made today,' he promised the boy before his attention turned to Godric, who stood quivering at his saviour's back, a hand clasped to his cheek to stem the blood streaming from the wound.

'To whom does this runt belong?' he spat loudly. For a moment no one stepped forward, until the grim Sir Edmund strode into the clearing.

'He's my son,' Sir Edmund growled reluctantly, his face flushing in humiliation at the admission. The two men glared at one another before Bellême laughed aloud.

'I shouldn't be surprised,' he said in contempt, 'should've guessed he was mongrel born. I suppose this cowardice is due to his Saxon blood?' Edmund didn't reply, but his body quivered with barely suppressed rage. After a moment, Bellême spat and pointed a finger at the strange boy who had just saved Godric's life.

'I swear this doesn't end here Slytherin!' he promised darkly before turning and striding away, unable to hide the pain caused by his injury. His companions followed him, although one paused to pick up his lord's fallen sword, taking a moment to stare ominously at the two boys. At Bellême's departure, the ruddy-faced man who had laughed uproariously at Bellême's misfortune shook his head in amusement, before clapping his hands and returning to the palace. The crowd quickly followed suit, keeping their distance from the three figures stood unmoving in the centre of the courtyard. The strange boy released a deep breath,

'I'm going to regret this,' he mumbled with a shudder. He turned to face Godric, staring at him curiously, 'you owe me my friend!' Godric didn't reply. He wasn't even listening. His eyes were fixed on his father, who now stared down at the boy with his nostrils flaring and pure fury blazing behind his eyes. Without wasting a moment, his father grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and wrenched him roughly from the courtyard. Slytherin watched them go in concern, thinking that no good would come from the threatening look Sir Edmund had just given his son.

Godric barely remembered the next hour of his life. His father dragged him roughly back to the tent they'd set up in the fields surrounding Westminster. Edmund could barely contain his rage as he dismissed the few men of his retinue who still lingered nearby. What followed was the worst beating Godric had suffered at his father's hand. He was struck to the ground again and again, his small body crumpling each time a fist or foot made contact. Yet, his father did not relent, not even when Godric's blood was splattered across the ground at his feet. Each punch was interjected with a roar as he flung insults and curses which punctuated the boy's consciousness.

'Devil,' his father finally spat hoarsely, which was the worst insult of them all, for it hurt more than all the blows combined, 'you're no son of mine.'

Godric neither said a word nor tried to defend himself. He was exhausted from the demon's brief escape and so took the beating silently, even as his father's fist bloodied his face and broke his ribs. All he could think of was the shame and humiliation he'd felt as he'd watched his father standing idly by as Bellême attempted to kill him.

He was slumped on the ground when a sudden, deafening crack exploded from the tents opening. His father jumped back, shook from the blind rage which had consumed him. Breathing heavily, he spun quickly and appeared to be ready to launch himself at whoever had intruded upon them. A tall figure stood at the tent's entrance. Through his hazy and bloodied vision, Godric saw the figure of a man standing there, tall enough to look down at his father. Golden hair peppered with grey crowned his head and his eyes were cold as they took in the scene before him. The only hint of distaste at the sight of Godric laying in his own blood was a slight twitch of his sword hand.

Yet, there was more to this strange man than met the eye. He appeared to radiate an aura so forceful that Sir Edmund unwillingly took a step backwards, his hand seeking the comfort of a sword which was no there. The air was balanced upon a knife edge as the two men sized each other up.

'Salazar,' the stranger said in a calm, clear voice. From behind the man stepped the boy who had rescued Godric from Bellême's malice. He couldn't hide the appalled look which crossed his face at the sight of Godric. Godric smiled faintly through broken lips, but didn't respond.

'Salazar,' the tall stranger spoke again, his gaze never leaving Sir Edmund's, 'take the boy to my quarters.' Salazar nodded and took a step forward, only to find his path barred by Godric's father.

'I don't think so boy!' Sir Edmund snarled, before returning his attention to the other man, 'you're not taking him anywhere; you're not welcome here.'

'Edmund,' the newcomer replied, 'it's been many years since we last met, and I'm well aware that our relationship is fraught. But I will not leave my sister's son in your hands.'

'Leave us,' Sir Edmund attempted to command.

'No.'

'He's my son. It is my right to punish him as I see fit…'

'Just like it was your right to punish Alys?' replied the tall man and a briefest trace of anger breached his calm demeanour, 'Besides, punish him for what? For showing courage when facing one of the most dangerous men in the kingdom? For displaying bravery where most men would cower? For being a wizard? For not being William?'

Sir Edmund paled, and he looked like he was ready to leap at the intruder and tear him apart. The tall man seemed unfazed by the immediate threat. He simply gestured at the boy,

'Salazar, take him…' Salazar hesitated, glancing at Edmund, who still seemed prepared to launch himself at the newcomer.

'And you Lord Alain?'

'I'll follow soon enough,' he said calmly, 'this meeting is long overdue. I have much to discuss with my brother-in-law.' Salazar hesitated a moment longer, clearly unhappy about leaving his master in the presence of an enraged nobleman. He was still stunned at the knowledge that Lord Alain had a nephew, let alone one of wizarding blood. However, his wits returned quickly enough, and he rushed to Godric's side and delicately heaved the boy into a standing position. He stumbled a little as he adjusted to the younger boy's weight to support him. This time, Edmund didn't attempt to intervene. Instead, he simply glared at his brother-in-law.

'Do you think I'm going to leave the boy in your hands,' his father growled as Salazar led Godric out of the tent, 'I will not let the hands of a depraved wizard taint the boy further!' Despite Sir Edmund's accusations, the tall man appeared to have the patience of a saint and refused to rise to Edmund's insults. His voice remained calm as he stared his brother-in-law down.

'Peace, and let me speak…' Godric heard no more. The bleak sunlight almost blinded him, and his mind swam. He was faintly aware of his father's retinue staring in shock at Godric's battered appearance as they passed, but he no longer cared. There was little he cared about in that moment.

Time barely seemed to pass as Salazar led Godric to Westminster's palace and through a labyrinth of bustling, torch-lit halls. Godric paid no heed to his surroundings until Salazar hoisted him through a doorway and into a dimly lit room, crowded with bedding and personal trinkets. They'd barely stepped inside when a gruff voice spoke from the gloom behind the doorway,

'What news do you bring, Salazar?' With an effort, Godric raised his head. A large man sat with his back against the nearest wall. He radiated the same calmness as Siward, the confidence of a man who could handle himself in a fight. A great broadsword lay across his lap as a testament to this fact, the man tenderly running a whetstone down the blades length to sharpen it. It looked like he expected trouble and was ready to deal with it. Salazar breathed a sigh of relief,

'Thank Merlin, Hugh!' he said, 'I half-expected one of Bellême's dogs to be waiting in the dark.'

'His dogs are out in force,' confirmed Hugh casually, 'but so are Lord Alain's. What news?'

'Lord Alain has ordered me to bring his nephew here, where he is to remain with us for the time being.' Hugh nodded,

'Is this the boy?' Godric glanced up at the man. For a moment, their eyes met and held, before Godric dropped his gaze, intimidated by the older man's baleful glare.

'I believe so. Although it's hard to tell under all the blood and bruises. A little longer in his father's company and we'd be tending to a corpse.' Salazar's tone conveyed how appalled he was. Godric merely shuddered slightly at the blunt words. The impenetrable Hugh said nothing, simply gesturing at a pile of furs and rugs in the corner of the room. Understanding the older man's unspoken command, Salazar led Godric in that direction until the sound of running feet echoed close by. For a sickening moment everything stilled; Salazar stopped moving and even Hugh paused, his hand on his sword hilt as the sound grew louder.

Then from the hall's gloom leapt a young boy. He had wiry brown hair and appeared to be a similar age to Godric and Salazar. He obviously meant no ill, for his grin reached from ear to ear and he practically bounced across the chamber when he caught sight of Salazar. Half consumed by the shadows, Hugh silently shook his head and returned to sharpening his sword.

'Salazar, what's this I keep hearing about you facing down Bellême. You've been lying to the serving maids haven't you? It can't have been you, you don't have the stones! '

'Bugger off Hamon,' replied Salazar exasperatedly, although he couldn't fight his growing smirk. The boy, Hamon, laughed at his reaction before seemingly noticing Godric for the first time. He looked at him curiously, taking in the boy's battered, bruised and exhausted appearance.

'Who's this?'

'Godric of Black-Hollow,' replied Salazar, 'Lord Alain's nephew.'

'Lord Alain has a nephew?' Hamon blurted out, looking shocked.

'Looks like it,' Salazar grinned, 'a nephew who incidentally put Bellême on his arse!'

Hamon gaped. Even the taciturn Hugh paused mid-stroke at the tale. Godric barely heard. His body ached and his head rang with a dull, pulsating pain. Then Hamon laughed uproariously and slapped Godric softly on the back, causing the latter to wince in discomfort.

'That's bloody brilliant!' Hamon beamed, before looking at Salazar questioningly, 'Is he a wizard?'

'Lord Alain believes so,' the boy confirmed, 'and I sensed it moments before he used magic to throw Bellême back. It's the only way someone his size could topple a bastard like him.' Hamon nodded in understanding, before gesturing at Godric's wounds.

'Did Bellême do this to him?'

'Partially! The rest was his father,' Hamon's eye's widened.

'His father?'

'Yes, we interrupted halfway through a demonstration of his father's discipline,' Salazar sighed, 'Lord Alain's still with him. He told me to bring Godric here and make sure he was taken care of. Personally, I hope he…'

'Boys!' Both teens turned to see Hugh observing them sternly, 'that's enough.'

'But father…' Hamon attempted to interject.

'It is Lord Alain's business, not ours. Now instead of gossiping like a couple of little maids, why don't you find the boy a bed and tend to his wounds before he collapses at your feet…'

Godric suddenly swayed where he stood. He was exhausted, in pain and utterly confused by all this talk of wizards. He barely heard the two boys curse as he collapsed to the ground. Godric finally welcomed the merciful wave of unconsciousness that rushed to meet him as everything disappeared into a black void.


	3. Chapter Two: Raven

**Raven**

Night had fallen by the time Godric stirred from his unconscious slumber. He immediately regretted it. His body ached, and every slight shift caused sore muscles to scream in rebellion. Stiff, tired and with every limb throbbing in pain, Godric laid back and sighed quietly. Disjointed memories flooded his mind; his beating from the devilish knight; his father's fury and the feeling of his bleeding and broken body being pummelled repeatedly by the man who had sired him. Talk of wizards peppered his memory and he could hazily remember a tall man and a young boy rescuing him. Strangely, he didn't feel the wave of emotion he'd anticipated. Rather, he felt oddly empty, as if he couldn't muster the effort to contemplate his father's actions. It was a stark contrast to the onslaught of tears which had followed previous beatings he'd suffered.

A muted moan shook him from his stupor. Surprised, Godric peered into the gloom as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. He was at the edge of a large room, packed with personal belongings and small straw beds. It didn't take him long to realise that the source of the noise came from the chamber's far side. Two squirming bodies were nestled under the privacy of a large blanket and judging by the sounds they were making, they were revelling in their intimacy. A woman was coaxing her lover with commands that made Godric blush.

Now scarlet-faced, Godric felt his stomach rumble. Hunger pierced his fatigue and he realised that he hadn't eaten since his arrival at Westminster. Summoning the courage to move despite the protests from his aching limbs, he silently rose to his feet. Stiff but pleasantly surprised at the lack of pain he felt, he shifted soundlessly towards the door, the man's eager response to his lover's cries swiftly encouraging his flight. The door creaked slightly when opened, but not enough to distract the lovers from their pleasure and Godric crept away unnoticed.

The corridor was dimly lit by torches. As Godric wandered further from the chamber he noticed the heavy tapestries which adorned the stone walls, telling tales of ancient legends and fantastic beasts. Moving aimlessly on, he began to hear the echo of bawdy songs and loud shouts. Godric hesitated, realising that the sounds must be originating from the great hall.

'How long have I slept for?' Godric pondered quietly, frowning in confusion.

Wanting to remain unseen, he turned away from the festivities and followed the aromas wafting through the halls and corridors. His stomach was growling by the time he reached the kitchens. He approached the kitchens cautiously to avoid any servants who still lingered there. When he arrived, Godric was shocked to discover that the great cooking fires had long since died, although the warmth and scent of rich foods remained.

Creeping warily into the large room, Godric cast a quick eye over the surrounding tables. They were covered in dirty plates, dishevelled baskets and drained flagons from the festivities. Spices and herbs lay scattered amongst the chaos, along with, to Godric's joy, scraps of rich meats, cooked vegetables and mouth-watering fruits. Godric's stomach leapt at the sight. He practically skipped towards the table and was just about to reach them when he heard a soft growl. He stopped instantly, eyes wide, and turned slowly to find a large hound dozing in the kitchen's corner, chewed greasy bones scattered around it. Godric let out a deep breath of relief. The hound's eyes were closed as it slumbered in the kitchen's lingering warmth.

Godric crept closer to the table, arms outstretched towards the meagre but scintillating sight. He was just about to seize his prize when the sound of heavy footsteps resonated from the nearby hallway.

Godric panicked, quickly hiding behind another large bench just in time to avoid a bustling servant, who entered the kitchens with his arms laden with used plates. Godric's gaze lingered hungrily on the dishes as the servant hastily discarded them on a cluttered workbench. However, to Godric's despair, the servant remained in the kitchen to hurriedly prepare more food for the celebrations. Obviously, someone of high importance, perhaps the newly crowned King himself, had demanded a late-night meal.

With his mind racing, Godric failed to notice the figure lurking half-hidden in the shadows until she shifted noisily in discomfort. He spun around quickly to find a pair of dark blue eyes staring back at him from the dark. They belonged to a scrawny, raven-haired young girl, who instantly began giggling quietly at his stunned expression. Before he could react, she raised a finger to her lips, signalling for him to remain silent. Godric could only nod dumbly.

The girl paused briefly, reassuring herself that the servant's attention was solely on the meal he was preparing. Then slowly she stretched out her hand, the palm facing the pile of leftover foods on the nearest table where an apple sat untouched. Godric frowned, wondering what her intentions were, for she was too far away to physically reach the delicately perched apple. She glanced at him and flashed a devilish smile in his direction. Then suddenly, with a whoosh of air, the apple was in her hand.

Godric's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Were his eyes deceiving him? The girl grinned as she took a large bite out of the apple, before quickly tossing it the small distance between them to where a completely unprepared Godric still sat gaping. He didn't even attempt to catch it and with a painful thump, the apple hit him in the head, eliciting another fit of silent giggles from his companion. Godric's mind cleared as he shook it, then picked up the fruit and eyed it speculatively, as if determining whether the apple had somehow become corrupted. Who was this girl? Godric glanced at her, then at the fruit as she urged him to eat the apple, a suggestion reinforced by the instantaneous growl which erupted from his stomach.

The succulent apple tasted heavenly as its juices dripped from his lips, but the girl was no longer watching. Instead, she was staring at a large plate filled with scraps of tender meats, roasted vegetables and baked bread. Godric devoured the apple as the girl's eyes narrowed in concentration and once again raised her hand. However, nothing happened, and the plate refused to budge. Frowning, the girl tensed, and her face hardened in determination. The air quivered around her. Suddenly the plate shifted, hovering softly off the wooden surface and drifting steadily towards the two children. The girl trembled, and a bead of sweat dribbled down from her raven crown. Halfway through its journey, the plate shuddered, but the girl's concentration was solely on the task at hand. The servant accidently masked any sound that the two thieves made by loudly humming a bawdy tavern song. To the girl, the slumbering hound and even Godric were forgotten until, with a relieved sigh, the plate dropped soundlessly into her hands.

The girl smiled at her accomplishment, and it widened when she noticed Godric gaping at her in awe. A slight flush coloured her cheeks before she hastily began piling the tasty trinkets into her dress, regardless of the mess that the grease and oils made. She passed Godric half of the plate's contents, who could barely control the urge to pounce on the food. Meanwhile, the girl turned her attention once again to the unmanned kitchen bench where a goblet of half-drunk wine stood. She caught Godric's attention,

'Watch this,' she mouthed, grinning confidently. Godric frowned when he noticed her next target. After the events which had transpired recently, Godric didn't want anything to do with wine. He felt elation transform into a rising dread, but couldn't put a finger on the cause. Then it hit him. The kitchen had descended into silence and the servant had finished preparing his meal. Godric turned and tried to warn the girl, but it was too late. The girl had already raised a hand towards the wine. She caught a flicker of Godric's frantic attempts to catch her attention and glanced at him, breaking her concentration.

With a loud crack, the goblet went shooting off in the opposite direction to where the two children hid. Unfortunately, the servant turned at that precise moment, his arms laden with exquisite dishes and the flying goblet hit him hard in the face. Half-blinded by the wine, he cried out in astonishment. Wiping at his eyes and cursing, the servant looked frantically around before his eyes suddenly landed on Godric's companion, who knelt frozen amidst the chaos. Distracted by his find and with his face swiftly reddening in anger, the servant began to pace towards her.

'Little bitch,' he spat angrily, noticing for the first time the scraps of food wrapped up in the girl's dirty dress, 'thief!'

He charged forwards, so determined to reach her that he failed to see the half-eaten apple soaring through the air until it struck its intended target. A pile of dirty plates and dishes suddenly cascaded to the ground with a resounding crash. Twisting round in fright at the sudden eruption of noise, the servant lost his footing, falling to the ground with a heavy grunt and dropping the vast burden in his laden arms with a resounding crash. The slumbering hound woke with a jolt and began howling and barking madly, adding to the chaos.

Godric and the girl shared a quick glance, the boys hand still outstretched from when he'd launched the apple and instantly reached a silent agreement. Then they were gone, racing out of the kitchen with their arms loaded with spoils. The dazed servant caught a glimpse of two shapes disappearing and shouted for them to stop, but the two children were long gone by the time his wits returned. Picking himself up and rubbing down his food-stained tunic, he began to piece together a new meal, grumbling incessantly about the lack of respect shown by children these days.

The pair of adventurers finally came to a stop when they found a small den in the shadows beneath a stairway, out of sight of the revellers who still feasted nearby. Out of breath from sprinting blindly through the maze of dimly lit corridors, silence fell between them as they looked at each other.

Then the girl was laughing, her cackle echoing off the stone walls. Godric stared at her as if she was mad, but couldn't help the wry smile which flickered at his lips. Soon his gentle laughter joined hers.

'Did you see his face?' asked the girl. She attempted to impersonate the servants face, failed miserably, and then bent forwards again, clutching her stomach as her body trembled with more giggles. Godric didn't trust himself to speak. He was suddenly nervous. He'd never spoken to a girl his age before. Young maids were present in Black-Hollow, but none had ever crossed his path, most likely warned away from him by the fears and suspicions of others. This wild wraith-like girl with her unfamiliar brogue made him feel awkward and slightly ill at ease. The girl soon regained control of her laughter and began picking at the spoils they had pilfered from the palace kitchens.

'Here,' she said after noticing the yearning look Godric was giving the food. She offered him a small smile and he blushed in return, causing her impish grin to widen. They shared their meagre feast in silence. After a while, Godric risked a glance at his companion, only to find her watching him curiously.

'You're very ugly,' she stated innocently, her voice muffled as she wiped away the grease at the corners of her mouth. Godric was sure he looked indignant; he certainly felt it. She'd just insulted him after his quick thinking had allowed her escape from the servant's clutches.

'Thanks,' he replied, somewhat grumpily. The girl's eyes widened,

'No, I didn't mean,' she said quickly, 'I didn't mean to be rude, it's just that your face is very ill-looking, all bruised and swollen like that' Godric frowned. She probably had a point, he reluctantly mused in silence. After the two beatings he'd suffered recently, he wasn't surprised to discover that he looked battered and ill-kept. He sighed, picking absentmindedly at the remains of his meal.

'Don't worry about it.'

'How did it happen?' the girl blurted inquisitively,

'I had an accident,' he said uncomfortably.

'Must have been quite an accident,' she acknowledged, before finally realising the effect her inquisition was having on her companion. She shrugged, deeming it a private matter he didn't want to discuss. They slipped into silence again, the girl wary and Godric sullen. However, curiosity soon got the better of Godric's inquisitive nature,

'How did you do that?' he asked her quietly,

'Do what?'

'What you did in the kitchens, to get the food?'

'I just summoned them,' she replied modestly, 'I can't do much, and it's just a little trick I've learned.'

'It was incredible,' Godric told her earnestly.

'Oh,' the girl said, her cheeks reddening faintly at his praise. They shared a smile.

'How did you do it?'

'I'm not supposed to say,' she asked, suddenly unsure, 'my father made me promise. Why do you want to know?'

'It's just,' Godric shrugged, 'I never thought what you did was possible,'

'I shouldn't have done it,' the girl admitted, 'not in front of you anyway…'

'Do what?' Godric asked, intrigued. The girl hesitated, staring at him piercingly. Godric sensed that she was silently judging whether he was worthy of some untold and forbidden knowledge.

'Magic,' she finally said.

'Magic!' Godric exclaimed, gaping at his companion, 'That…that was magic?'

'Yes,' she nodded, giggling at his stunned expression. She bit noisily into a slab of meat tearing greasy scraps off the bone whilst Godric considered this new information. Magic. Magic really existed. He remembered how the girl had performed the strange miracle by summoning the food to her. Was he the same? Was it magic rather than an evil spirit within him? He felt suddenly revitalised by the possibility that he may not be evil after all.

'You should smile more.' Godric was snapped out of his internal musings by the girl's comment. She was smiling softly at him, before she stuck out her tongue and added cheekily, 'it makes you slightly less ugly.'

Godric hadn't realised that he was grinning. He simply rolled his eyes, before throwing an apple core at her in response. She gasped, before laughing and shoving him playfully back. His laughter soon joined hers. He felt exuberant, a sensation which had been missing for much of his life. His brother's untimely death had robbed him of any meaningful childhood bond and fear kept the children of Black-Hollow away. As he playfully wrestled with the girl, he revelled in the uncomplicated happiness of youth. Eventually, their game subsided, especially when Godric's bruised and battered body began to protest. They sat in contented silence, their meagre feast finished and forgotten.

'By the way,' she said quietly, watching him, 'thank you.'

'What for?' Godric asked in bemusement,

'For distracting that kitchen servant,' she reminded him, 'I thought I was caught for sure; it was very heroic.' She said it teasingly, almost mockingly, but the slight flush betrayed how grateful she truly was for Godric's recklessness. Soon, it was Godric's turn to blush,

'It was nothing,' he tried to deflect her praise humbly, not used to having it directed his way. The girl shook her head,

'No,' she insisted, 'it wasn't nothing. I'd have been in a lot of trouble if I'd been caught.'

'You'd have got away,' Godric responded naively, 'you can do magic.'

'Magic can only do so much,' the girl told him sagely, rolling her eyes at his ignorance, 'magic couldn't heal my mother and it won't stop my father from betrothing me to the highest bidder…' She hissed this bitterly, before sighing, her eyes suddenly downcast.

'If you hadn't intervened, I'd have been caught…and…and I would have brought great shame to my father.' Godric's eyes widened as the girl's unexpectedly subdued countenance, her thoughts dwelling on other things. He remained silent, unwilling to quench his curiosity. He understood the need for privacy better than anyone.

'My father is a great wizard from the glens in the far north,' she burst out suddenly, glancing at him, 'I'm very proud of my heritage and I love him greatly. But our family is impoverished.' She paused, gesturing with her hand at the filthy dress she wore and her untidy hair. She seemed ashamed of it; the mischievous glint in her eyes gone. Godric immediately missed its presence. 'He's very insistent on regaining our family's honour and wealth. That's why we've come to this coronation. So that my father can find a man to marry me too.' She glanced at Godric, who sat enraptured by her tale.

'Surely you're too young to marry?' The girl smiled at him.

'I'm almost twelve,' she admitted sadly, 'which is old enough to be betrothed. I don't think my father wouldn't marry me off yet, not until I'm fifteen at least. He loves me too dearly and the few years until then are enough time for me to become the greatest witch I can be.' Her passion was clear to see. She seemed to realise it at the same time he did, for she blushed even more in embarrassment. Suddenly the girl stood up, awkwardly dusting off the crumbs and dirty stains that her dress had accumulated.

'It's late. I should be going before my father realises I'm gone.' She began to retreat, before pausing and turning her attention back to Godric with a playful smile, 'Before I leave, what do I call my modest, ill-looking paladin? Tristan or Bedwyr? Perhaps Roland or Cuchulainn?' Godric shook his head,

'Just Godric,' he replied shyly,

'Godric,' she whispered, trying the name before smiling and saying grandly, 'Well my good Sir Godric, I'll bid you farewell'. She winked playfully at him, before scurrying hurriedly away.

'Wait,' Godric yelled, surprising even himself. The girl paused, looking back, 'what do I call you?' The girl seemed to hesitate, contemplating her answer. Then she grinned at him impishly,

'Call me Raven.' She stood still for a few moments longer, before turning down the corridor, dancing all the way and singing a song in the enthralling language of her native glens. Enchanted by the music, Godric stood rooted to the spot; simply content to watch the girl seemingly glide away as she danced. She looked back at him one last time and smiled brightly when she caught him still watching her. Then she was gone, disappearing into the gloomy corridors like an elf or wraith from folklore.

Godric returned to Lord Alain's quarters in a daze, his mind still consumed with thoughts of the girl dancing and singing as she disappeared into the darkness. He was unaware of how he reached his destination, for all he could think of was that impish smile. The chamber was quiet, the throes of passion which had greeted Godric earlier having long since ended. Now sleeping figures lay strewn across the room and a heavy stench of stale alcohol lingered in the air. Godric paused at the entrance before bravely stalking inside, hoping that he wouldn't disturb any of the figures dozing drunkenly in the dark. He'd barely stepped forwards when a soft cough broke the silence, alerting Godric to a foreign presence. Twisting around, Godric found a tall man standing in the shadows of the door and instantly recognised him as the stranger who had confronted his father about the brutal beating. This was the infamous Lord Alain of Avalon. Alain greeted Godric with a warm smile, before gesturing towards a small door to the side of the chamber.

'Follow me,' he told Godric gently, 'we can speak plainly there.' Godric nodded and shuffled into his uncle's private chamber. With a swish of his robes, Alain followed and swiftly closed the door soundlessly with a flick of an odd wooden stick which had suddenly materialised in his hand. Godric, having already seen magic being performed in such a manner, barely flinched at the display. However, his eyes did widen when Alain effortlessly conjured two cushioned chairs, both flamboyantly coloured and comforted with pillows, an opulent decoration in contrast with the rather spartan quarters. Once Godric was seated, Alain summoned a small table, which drifted over slowly before being placed beside them. It was adorned with a small feast and two goblets of scented wine.

'I thought you might be hungry,' he told him, 'but I suspect your appetite has already been satisfied after your exploits in the kitchens.' Godric baulked and looked worriedly at the man before him. He was shocked that he had been caught. Did Alain know what transpired in the kitchens? Judging by the knowing look he was sending Godric, he surely suspected.

'How did you know?' stuttered Godric. Alain chuckled quietly, although he looked strangely apologetic.

'I'm sorry for intruding on your privacy,' he admitted, 'but I saw it as a necessity to place a tracking charm on you, to determine your whereabouts if you awoke in a particularly adventurous mood and to guarantee your survival.'

'A tracking charm?' Godric gasped, nonplussed.

'It's a magical spell which enables me to know of your whereabouts. There is no reason to fear, as it leaves no lasting marks and I have already removed the enchantment. I simply deemed it necessary, especially in the present climate. There are dangerous men who would like to see you dead, Godric. This coronation may have afforded them the perfect opportunity whilst I was distracted by my duties to the new King.'

'Is the coronation over?' Godric asked in surprise,

'Yes, although the festivities will likely continue throughout the night.' Godric nodded, unable to keep his disappointment from showing. He'd missed the King's coronation. Alain studied him in silence before Godric finally dared to meet his gaze. Alain had greying fair hair, but still looked remarkably youthful despite being middle-aged. Startling blue eyes twinkled in the firelight.

'Tell me Godric, do you know who I am?' Godric nodded slowly, 'Good. I am Lord Alain of Avalon, Grand-Sorcerer and loyal advisor to the King of England, as I was to his father before him. Did you also know that I am your uncle?'

Again, Godric nodded warily. This was the first time in his short life that he had ever met his mysterious uncle. He remembered that Lord Alain's name had been mentioned on passing occasions throughout his life, although it was often accompanied by a curse unless spoken by his mother. Alain nodded in satisfaction,

'Excellent, that will make things easier,' he acknowledged, 'Sadly I didn't know your mother well, even though we shared a father. She was only a small child when I was apprenticed to my master. As a child, Alys was a sweet little thing and from what I hear, she became a remarkable woman. I attended her wedding, but that was years before your birth. I was truly saddened to learn of her death and even more aggrieved to hear about your brother. It was cruel for your brother to be killed so soon after.'

Godric sat silently in the face of his uncle's compassion. He hated to be reminded of that time; of the losses he still felt so keenly. Something stirred in him and Godric recalled that his uncle had been absent at his mother's funeral.

'Why weren't you there?' He said accusingly. Alain frowned but seemed to understand what drove Godric to refer to his absence.

'I had no choice,' he admitted soberly, 'your father wouldn't allow it and I did not wish to stir up an old and bitter argument, especially over my sister's grave. So, I respected Edmund's wishes and stayed away. It was the same with your brother. Our paths never crossed at court, although I remember that the Old King spoke well of him.' Godric continued to sit in silence, although his uncle sounded sincere enough.

'But we'll speak of your father later,' Alain continued, 'We have more important matters to discuss. Firstly, do you know what you are?' Godric simply stared blankly back, 'or put more simply, have you realised that you can do certain things; things that others cannot do?'

Godric considered his answer. Harsh beatings at his father's hands had engrained the demand for secrecy deep within him. However, those violent displays differed significantly from Alain's gentle inquisition.

'Yes!'

'Do you understand your abilities?' Godric shook his head,

'Our local priest said that it was a sign that an evil spirit or demon lived in me,' He was suddenly interrupted by a bark of laughter from Alain.

'That does not surprise me,' he said, shaking his head with a wry smile, 'tensions between wizards and the Church are commonplace. They consider us pagans, evil-doers and fear our magic. In return, wizards treat religion with contempt and disdain, seeing it as a blight on society and a haven for prejudice and violence. However, do not let past experiences cloud your open mind. Not all priests feel this way and you may meet more than one wizard who is intrigued by the idea of religion and worship many Muggle gods fervently.'

Godric listened intently to Alain. He truly despised Father Thomas, a man who had tormented him since that fateful day when he was six years old. Only time would tell if Godric would heed his uncle's wise counsel.

'The truth, Godric, is that you are a wizard.' Godric stilled and his breath seemed to stop. A wizard? He had long suspected he was different from others, but to believe that the sickly, unwanted second son of a minor nobleman was in fact a wizard was beyond belief. He wanted to be knight; to wield a sword and ride a fine warhorse. To discover that he was a wizard shattered his childhood dreams.

'That's not possible,' Godric finally breathed. Alain smiled patiently,

'Oh, it is Godric. You do not harbour evil within you. It is magic which flows in your blood; strongly too if judged by your recent magical feats. You have been denied knowledge of the world you belong to for far too long. The Otherworld of secrecy and sorcery. You, my nephew, are a wizard!'

Godric sat in silence, barely able to conceive what he was hearing. Magic. He could do magic. The image of a young girl summoning food shot through his mind.

'All this time,' he stuttered, his emotions in turmoil, 'all this time, it's been magic?' Alain nodded, smiling warmly at his young nephew.

'Welcome to the world of magic, Godric,' he said, 'As a young wizard, you will need to be trained. I will complete this task. From this night on, you will be joining my household as my apprentice and squire. I will seek to teach you the laws and skills which govern the use of magic, as well as all you need to know to survive in our world. In return, you will remain loyal to me…'

'I want to be a knight!' Godric blurted out abruptly. Alain raised an eyebrow in surprise, but his easy smile soon widened,

'It is not uncommon,' said Alain thoughtfully, 'for wizards to adopt the ways of Muggle knights.'

'Muggle?' asked Godric in confusion, unfamiliar with the term.

'It's what we call non-wizards,' Alain explained patiently. He gestured with his hands towards the chamber's bed and when Godric turned, he noticed a large broadsword resting there, 'as you can see, I have some skill with a sword. It is useful for a wizard to have more than one trick up his sleeves. Magic knights are called Fae-knights and can fight with both magic and Muggle weapons, as well as holding a powerful status in the Muggle realms. It will take time to accomplish this, but if you are motivated, dedicated and serve me well, then I see no reason to deter you from this ambition.'

For the first time, Godric returned his uncle's smile. A Fae-knight. His childhood dreams were still a tantalising possibility. However, reality soon came crashing down.

'What about my father?' Godric asked, watching Alain's features darken slightly, 'he will never allow it.'

'I have taken it upon myself to remove you from your father's reach. I fear that if my squire Salazar hadn't alerted me to the danger Edmund posed to you, then it would be too late, and we wouldn't be having this conversation.' Godric nodded. From what he could hazily recollect, his father was uncompromising in his fury and would have continued his brutal beating until Godric was dead. It was a hardship to accept, but Alain spoke a stark and tragic truth.

'Besides,' Alain continued, 'in his generosity, the new King has deemed Edmunds's loyalty to his father worthy of reward. He is to marry again; a young Norman woman called Eleanor le Broc. She is a ward of the King and he has seen fit to provide her with a fitting dowry. It is a generous offer, one in which your father was keen to accept.'

This news surprised Godric. His father was no longer a young man, nor had he reached his dotage. However, it could be said that he was past his prime. To discover that he would have a new mother-in-law stunned Godric and he couldn't dispel the rising resentment at his mother being replaced, although he did feel a flutter of pity for the young woman whose duty it would be to please his ill-tempered father.

'So, what does he want from me?' Godric finally muttered, 'Why did he let you take me? He hates you.'

'I will not insult your intelligence Godric. Your father hopes to sire a new heir to replace you. Edmund is an uncompromising man and whilst it did not come to blows between us, I was forced to remind him that it was I who had a hand in influencing the King's judgement, especially regarding his recent success. Whilst you are fostered in my household, you will remain the heir to Black-Hollow for as long as Lady Eleanor doesn't give birth to another son. Only time will tell, and I'll try everything in my power to ensure that you become your own man. You will have to work hard to achieve your ambitions Godric, but I sense great potential in you.'

Alain spoke evenly and with complete certainty. Godric flushed at his uncle's encouragement.

'It is late,' said Alain suddenly, clapping his hands together, 'and we have a demanding day ahead of us. Although you have already slept for an age, you are still recovering from your injuries. Once we reach Avalon, I'm sure my wife will insist on treating any lasting hurt you still bear and then lament at my own inadequate healing skills.' He smiled, 'when you are fit and healthy, then you will join my squires Salazar and Hamon, who will teach and aid you in your duties. Especially Salazar, as he is also training to be a wizard. If you require it, I'm sure they will be more than willing to help you adapt to your new responsibilities.' The warm smile and twinkling eyes rested on Godric and the boy realised that he was being dismissed. Running a hand through his red hair, Godric stood hurriedly. He paused as he reached the door,

'Lord,' he asked inquiringly, 'who was that man in the palace courtyard? The man who attacked me?' Alain frowned slightly, and the smile slipped from his face, making his features seem cold and harsh. However, he seemed pleased that Godric had enough wits to ask,

'The man who accosted you is called Sir Robert of Bellême. He is a powerful magnate whose family holds swathes of land in both Normandy and England. He is a formidable man from a long line of wizards and his family have a well-earned reputation for violence and sadism.'

'Bellême,' whispered Godric. It all came flooding back; the tall brooding figure with the cold eyes and natural disposition of a killer, who had come within a whisper's breath of murdering Godric. He was a man who had no qualms with killing a child, especially a boy who had seemingly insulted his family honour. He had sensed a fear of Bellême radiating from the crowd and remembered how the powerfully built knight had intimidated his father. Godric shivered, recalling Bellême's promise that he would have revenge for his bruised pride. Alain sensed his unease,

'Bellême isn't usually a man who displays his anger publically. He prefers to vent his narcissistic tendencies in private, but you caught him at a bad time. Unfortunately, he is not the most loyal servant of the new King and is an outspoken supporter of Robert of Normandy's claim to the throne. However, Bellême only seeks to serve himself. He is no friend of mine, but neither are we enemies. Tonight, Bellême's followers are out looking for you, but some of my chosen men are standing guard close by and the King will not allow violence to mar his coronation. Consequently, Bellême may hold a feud against you. Godric, you must understand now, that as Lord of Avalon, I can only protect you for a time. I don't doubt that Bellême will one day seek to do you harm. You are also discovering our world at a dangerous time. Wizarding Britain is a fractured place, filled with rival factions, warring cultures and violent, self-serving wizards. It would be wise to remain vigilant if you want to survive.'

Godric gulped, visibly paling. A feud? Rival factions and violent wizard? What world was Godric being thrown into? He realised that he was fiddling with his hands nervously and hurriedly stopped in case he humiliated himself in front of his uncle. Instead, Alain stood and strode over to Godric to place a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder.

'It is my duty to protect you, Godric and I promise I will, to the best of my abilities. By ignoring your plight, I have failed you in the past. But I promise, from this night on, that I will do everything in my power to keep my sister's son alive.' He smiled and Godric returned it half-heartedly.

'Thank you, Lord,' he whispered absentmindedly, his mind whirling with thoughts of wizards and knights. Alain squeezed his shoulder and Godric basked in his uncle's reassuring smile.

'Now go and rest,' he said kindly, 'we have a busy day ahead of us. Tomorrow, we leave for Avalon.'


	4. Chapter Three: A Castle in the Mist

**A Castle in the Mist**

The next morning passed in a haze of hurried activity. Godric was woken from an uncomfortable slumber by a boot nudging his shoulder. Rubbing at bleary eyes, he looked up to find the large man who had been guarding the chamber when Godric had first been brought here by his uncle's squire. The man's harsh features lacked the warmth Lord Alain so easily exhibited and was brutally riddled with scars taken in past battles. His eyes shone with disapproval.

'Up,' he ordered. Godric scrambled to his feet. The man continued to stare at him as if sizing the young boy up.

'You'll do,' he grunted, 'my name is Hugh and I am the castellan of Avalon. Whilst we are here, you will obey my orders. Lord Alain insisted that we were to give you time to rest, but you've slept long enough. Go and wash; I'll send Salazar and Hamon to find you. They'll start to show you your duties before we leave.' Godric nodded quickly and hurried to obey. Something about the man instantly dissuaded any argument.

He had just discovered a small basin of chilly rose-water to wash with when he was interrupted by the appearance of a young teen with thick tawny hair and a roguish grin.

'Finally, you're awake,' he said cheerily, 'thought you were dead you slept that long.' He poked his head out of the small room Godric was in, 'Oi Salazar, I've found him…'

'Hamon you idiot,' someone growled and Godric was suddenly confronted by the strange boy who had saved him from Bellême's wrath, 'I'm right behind you.' Hamon ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, unfazed, whilst Salazar turned his attention to Godric. Smirking, he held out a wooden bowl,

'Here,' he said, indicating that Godric should take it, 'I thought you should have something to eat before we start. Today's going to be a nightmare on an empty stomach.' Godric thanked him quietly as he took the bowl of pottage and quickly wolfed down the offered meal. He felt slightly intimidated by the presence of two boys his own age, but his companions remained ignorant of Godric's nervousness.

'So,' began Hamon as they waited for Godric to finish, 'you're Lord Alain's nephew?'

'Lord Alain told us not to badger him,' Salazar rolled his eyes and scolded the younger boy, looking apologetic, 'Sorry about Hamon. He lacks the common sense of ordinary men; probably due to the accident at birth that left him looking like such a hideous monstrosity.'

'Piss off, Sal,' chuckled Hamon good-naturedly, seemingly unfazed by his companion's insults, 'you reek of jealousy!'

'Evidently,' Salazar smirked with the confident assurance of someone who was very handsome.

'Say's the man who spends most of the morning in front of a mirror,' replied Hamon with a mischievous grin, turning to Godric, 'you should see his bedchamber at Avalon. How many mirrors have you got now Sal?' Salazar scowled and Godric realised that Hamon was lancing a particularly sore point.

'Only two,' he mumbled mulishly, 'and it's not my fault they're old and battered, they were made by the Romans hundreds of years ago. It's hard to make out a clear reflection…'

'Bullshit,' chuckled Hamon, delighted that he'd managed to irritate his friend, 'I know you persuaded Isolde to teach you the spell required to fix them.' Salazar flushed with mortification at this news, his eyes narrowing,

'She promised she wouldn't tell anyone!'

'I heard her regaling the tale to the lads in the guardroom that very night,' admitted Hamon, 'for someone who rarely speaks, she can do a brilliant impression of you; really nails that high-pitch whine of yours. It was hilariously accurate…ow!' The tawny haired youth sprang up from where he was leaning against the wall, rubbing at his arm. Surprised, Godric saw Salazar smiling smugly. He returned a small stick to its resting place inside his tunic, which caused Hamon to scowl,

'You said you wouldn't jinx me anymore!'

'I lied,' shrugged Salazar, returning his attention back to Godric, who'd been watching the exchange of banter in fascination. Ignoring Hamon's promise to pay Salazar back two-fold during their next weapons lesson, he pressed a bundle of fresh clothes into Godric's hands. The strange device of a small silver apple stitched from many delicate, interweaving patterns was emblazoned on its breast.

'Here, get dressed into these. You are now a squire to the Lord of Avalon and as such, need to look presentable.' He eyed Godric's current attire in disgust, 'you can dispose of them.' Godric looked at his clothes self-consciously and blushed at the extent in which the cloth was stained with grease, dirt and blood. It was no surprise that Raven had found him so ill-looking during the previous night's exploits. It contrasted plainly with his two companions, who both wore handsomely tailored tunics, although Hamon's unruly locks made him look sufficiently less well-groomed than the darkly handsome Salazar. Indeed, the latter seemed to take great care and pride in his appearance.

'Don't mind Sal,' Hamon assured Godric warmly, 'He might look like a vain, pompous prick, but not all the magic in the world can hide the fact he's just a little Flemish street-rat his mother accidently shit out one morning.' Salazar looked furious at Hamon's barb, but the latter sent him a disarming smile which doused his rising indignation. Nevertheless, Salazar levelled him with a look which reassured Hamon that he wouldn't be the only one not holding back during their next bout of martial training. Sighing Salazar waited for Godric to finish dressing before heading to the door, signalling for Godric and Hamon to follow him,

'Enough with the childish bickering,' he muttered exasperatedly, 'we have duties to complete.'

The next few hours were spent showing Godric the basic duties required of a squire. They returned to Alain's now empty chamber and Godric helped the two older boys to prepare their lord's personal belongings for travel. Armour had to be prepared and cleaned, whilst the constant dangers of the road meant that Alain's large broadsword had to be sharpened. Much to Godric's disappointment, he lacked the necessary experience to perform this duty and had to settle with watching Hamon teach him how to use long strokes of a whetstone to sharpen the blade's edges without blemishing the gleaming steel. Next was seeing to the horses and other beasts which belonged to Alain. Light palfreys, stout baggage-mules and the much more valuable knightly warhorse all had to be groomed, saddled and readied for travel. Godric, determined to succeed, watched them intently, taking in every piece of advice offered by the two boys. He realised quickly that if he ever wanted to be a knight, then this was a routine task he had to master. He also marvelled at the size of his uncle's personal mount, a mighty grey coloured beast. Salazar told him proudly that it had been imported from the greatest horse-breeders of Spain as a gift to Lord Alain. Whilst Salazar and Hamon prepared the horses, Godric was given the task of managing his uncle's unruly hound. Godric was sweating, aching and covered in filthy straw by the time he emerged from the kennel with the leashed hound in tow.

When Hugh eventually allowed them to have a brief break, the boys scurried to the kitchens and collected the food which had been prepared for Lord Alain's return to Avalon. Unlike his companions, who were shamelessly flirting with a pair of receptive maids, Godric was careful to avoid being noticed in case he was recognised by the same servant whose attentions he'd so narrowly escaped the previous night. Fortunately, it appeared he wasn't present and Godric felt guilty when they left the kitchens. They delivered the bundle of supplies to the knights of Alain's retinue, who eyed Godric and his bruised face with curiosity. Salazar and Hamon didn't linger amd led Godric to a quiet spot in the palace courtyard to eat their own meal and between mouthfuls, Godric took the opportunity to thank Salazar for intervening with Bellême.

'Oh God, don't remind him,' groaned Hamon, 'he's been boasting about that for days!' Salazar rolled his eyes,

'Don't worry about it,' he told Godric honestly, before smirking, 'besides, we wizards have to stick together.'

'Lord Alain told me that Bellême is also a wizard?'

'Yes, he is,' Salazar nodded, 'which is why no one dared to intervene. Well, that and Bellême's reputation. No one trifles with Bellême without being scarred by the experience.' Salazar nodded at Godric's face, where the spell which Bellême had sliced a deep cut across Godric's cheek. It would mostly likely scar, although Godric was beginning to realise he'd been lucky to escape with such a little mark. Godric felt the sudden urge to voice his fears,

'Lord Alain told me that Bellême would hold a grudge against me.'

'I wouldn't worry about it,' Salazar reassured the younger boy, 'if no one dares cross Bellême, then they certainly won't have the courage to go against Lord Alain. He's the King's Grand Sorcerer for a reason.' Hamon nodded in agreement as Godric resisted the impulse to beg for more information about his enigmatic uncle.

'Well, would you wish to face Lord Alain in battle?' Hamon asked Salazar with a laugh, seemingly reading Godric's mind,

'Merlin no,' admitted Salazar, 'speaking frankly, Lord Alain's support is the only reason certain barons are reluctant to rebel against King William!'

'Rebellion?' Godric stuttered in alarm. The two older boys nodded grimly,

'Some barons say that Robert of Normandy should be king of England,' explained Hamon,

'These barons are powerful men,' continued Salazar, 'and Lord Alain believes that the King's uncle is the instigator, although I'd bet all my gold that Bellême's influence is stirring revolt.'

'So, the rebellion will effect wizards?'

'It always does,' replied Salazar incredulously, 'Wizards and Muggles have always meddled in each other's affairs. Lord Alain is the King's Grand Sorcerer. If England descends into rebellion, then Lord Alain will be forced to act on the King's behalf. Besides, you can wager wizards like Bellême will be throwing their wands behind the rebellion.'

'Don't worry,' Hamon shrugged, 'we'll be safe in Avalon by the time the rebellion flares up, if it does at all'

'Avalon's the most protected keep in Britain,' Salazar said, 'It'll take more than just a few disgruntled barons to threaten Lord Alain's lands.'

'Who protects Lord Alain when he's on campaign?' Godric inquired, making Hamon grin.

'Men like my father,' Hamon said proudly, before elaborating further when he saw Godric's nonplussed expression, 'Hugh is my father and Lord Alain's greatest knight.'

'You'd be hard-pressed to find a tougher bastard,' Salazar finished with a knowing smirk, 'if you think Lord Alain's a formidable man, then wait until your first glimpse of Troll-Bane with a sword in his hand.'

Troll-Bane was a bizarre byname, but one which hinted at a great origin. Before he could inquire further, Godric caught sight of two men and another small figure emerging from the great palace. Godric's eyes widened, instantly recognising his father. Sir Edmund strode towards a group of tethered horses, Siward as always at his back. Both Salazar and Hamon fell silent as their companion physically paled and began to shake. They quickly followed his gaze and recognisied the catalyst for the boy's sudden change in demeanour.

Sir Edmund helped the small figure into the saddle of the horse which had once borne his son, before mounting his own. As he shifted into position and prepared to leave, he glanced around the courtyard until suddenly, his gaze fell on Godric. The older man visibly stiffened and for the briefest moment, Godric felt as if his heart had turned to stone. Then Sir Edmund's eyes slid passed him and he spat, purposefully, into a pile of nearby steaming manure. Nudging his horse towards the gate, he refused to acknowledge his only living son.

The hooded figure draped in a heavy cloak glanced curiously in his direction and Godric saw a fair-haired face hidden beneath the mantle. This was the woman who was to replace his mother as the Lady of Black-Hollow. She appeared to be little over fifteen years old. Eleanor le Broc stared at Godric momentarily, then demurely followed her new husband. Behind her was Siward, who paused briefly to acknowledge Godric with a bow of his head. Then he followed Sir Edmund and Godric felt rather touched by the stoic old warrior's farewell.

He silently watched the riders disappear into the rising dust beyond the courtyard's gate until they were gone. Godric sighed, surprised by the sudden pang of loss. Black-Hollow had been his home. Admittedly it had been a place of torment and grief, but it was his home nonetheless. To discover that he was now barred from there by a father who refused to acknowledge his existence left him feeling desolate and alone.

Remaining subdued, he felt two hands being laid on each shoulder. Looking up, he found both Salazar and Hamon smiling sadly back,

'His loss,' grunted Salazar, before raising Godric to his feet. Godric smiled back hesitantly, before following his two companions as they returned to their duties, pushing any thoughts of his father and Black-Hollow to the back of his mind. After all, Avalon was to become his new home now.

Godric pondered how he'd ended up in the presence of such a strange company. The retainers of Lord Alain's household were far into their journey, travelling west along well-trodden roads towards fabled Avalon. The journey had passed quickly and Godric marvelled at the swiftness of their steeds and how light the loads they carried appeared. Indeed, Salazar had informed him that the baggage and supplies they bore were all charmed with spells so that they appeared lighter. The horses had also been fed with food imbued with magical properties and herbs to enhance their capabilities beyond that of normal beasts, enabling the retinue to travel further over a shorter time. Once again Godric's mind whirled with thoughts of magic and the opportunities that now lay tantalisingly at his fingertips.

The young boy was also astonished by the men and, to his disbelief, women, of his uncle's retinue. Unlike the sombre group he'd travelled with from Black-Hollow, this company was a jovial, colourful and flamboyantly dressed band. They joked, heckled and laughed with abandon, even seeing fit to kindly extend this courtesy to Godric, whose initial intimidation soon gave way to a shy pleasantness. Salazar and Hamon were constant companions, riding beside the younger boy and introducing him to any member of the retinue who ventured an intrigued inquisition towards Godric's presence. The most insistent of which was a short, barrel-chested man with a huge braided beard and dark eyes, who Salazar introduced as Bayard le Boar. Godric soon discovered why he'd acquired such a name, for the man had the ill-manners and stench of a wild brute,

'Don't let them fool you, boy,' he said, riding beside Godric, 'they're just jealous that I've got the strength of the mightiest boar.' He proved this by clapping the young boy on the shoulder, almost sending Godric flying out of the saddle. Bayard laughed loudly,

'Or is it because you're prepared to fuck any ugly sow who dares calls herself a woman?' taunted another, a good-natured man they called Hadrian. He had the dark features of an Easterner and barely ever quarrelled with his companions. Bayard replied with a two-fingered salute,

'Ask your mother, or is she too busy rutting with elves?' Everyone laughed, including Hadrian whose mother's honour had been insulted. Even Godric smiled and wondered how the retinue could seemingly ignore the dangers inherent on the road. They radiated an infectious confidence and gaiety, which Godric had slowly realised masked a keen-eyed surveillance of the woods and hills which surrounded the road, for steady hands always lingered near swords, lances and wands in readiness for the remote chance they were called upon. Godric also noticed that the two men leading the company were seemingly disengaged from the jovial atmosphere.

Lord Alain and Hugh Troll-Bane rode side by side at the head of the retainers, sitting proudly astride their mounts, Alain's long grey cloak fluttering beside Hugh's scarlet mantle. Both men seemed relaxed, although swords remained belted to their sides and Hugh's watchful gaze incessantly swept over the surrounding for any signs of danger. Occasionally, the two men would converse together, but they never extended the conversation to the rest of the retinue. Alain only glanced back once to catch Godric's eye, before smiling at the excited expression which beamed from his nephew's face.

The rest of the long journey passed quickly and soon they had reached the outskirts of the lowland marshes which Godric discovered surrounded Avalon. An experienced horseman on a good mount could travel at least fifty to sixty kilometres a day, possibly more if the conditions were favourable. Yet their company had travelled almost double that amount and Godric could scarcely believe Salazar's tales of trained wizards who could vanish with the flick of a wand before reappearing in a faraway location. Only the memory of a day when a half-crazed horse had almost killed him grounded it, although Godric refrained from admitting that he'd accomplished such a feat. Even Salazar hadn't accompanied it and he was two years wiser than Godric in magical lore. Besides, Alain was a born horseman, who'd mastered the art of wizarding travel long ago but still preferred the thrill of riding a well-trained mount. Salazar. On the other hand, Salazar was not and dreamt of the day he'd be able to travel in a swirl of magic rather than suffer from the embarrassment of his lousy horsemanship.

As the strange band meandered towards Avalon, the proximity of Glastonbury Abbey, the richest monastery in the land, was greeted with muffled curses from those with magical abilities. They had faced persecution and slander at the hands of the Church at their lives. The ecclesiastical community at Glastonbury Abbey were amongst the worst offenders and Alain had once been forced to intervene to put a stop to the bloodshed and keep the King's peace. Ever since, the Lord of Avalon and the community of Glastonbury monks had been locked in a bitter struggle for influence over the local people.

They moved on swiftly to avoid provoking unnecessary trouble and Godric was astounded at the natural beauty of the surrounding landscape. Small patches of woodland and large hills bisected the marshy lowlands and flooded plains. Above all loomed the Tor, a solitary hill which rose above the low-lying mists and dominated the land. As they skirted the foot of the large hill guarded by ancient standing stones, Hamon turned and grinned at Godric,

'We've just passed the gateway to Avalon,' he told Godric cheerfully,

'I always thought that was Avalon,' he replied in bemusement, pointing at the distant Tor.

'That's just Muggle superstition,' Salazar informed him with a laugh, 'created by simple minded Muggles like Hamon. The real Avalon is hidden from prying eyes by magic far older and greater than anything we can hope to conjure.' He raised a hand and pointed into the mists which were edging nearer. Godric followed his gaze, but could see nothing in the thick expanse of mist which concealed the wetland.

'I don't see anything,' he admitted, worried at what this might mean. Salazar simply shrugged,

'We don't either,' he said, 'only the household of the Lord of Avalon or those rare few who know Avalon's secret ways can penetrate the ancient wards. Don't worry my friend, you'll see it soon enough.'

Godric nodded, trusting Salazar's word. The retinue continued on until they had penetrated the mists, where the air around them grew mild and moist. So thick was the mist that Godric found it difficult to even see those closest to him, barely able to keep Salazar's emerald cloak insight. The earth beneath them became soft and dewy, for they no longer followed a road, but appeared to have diverted onto a small path which meandered unevenly through the marsh. Godric could only hope that his uncle knew the way. His nerves were on tender hooks and every shriek from nearby waterfowl or rustling of unseen creatures in the reeds frayed them further. There was an unnerving quality to the world around them as if their progress was being watched from the behind a veil of silvery mist. Godric shivered unconsciously, his imagination conjuring images of wild monsters and flesh-eating creatures. Only then did he note that the group's previous gaiety had fallen silent upon entry to the marsh surrounding of Avalon.

Then a horn blast rang out from the head of the retinue. Godric jumped at the echoing sound, continuing forward and following Salazar as they entered a small clearing in the mist. Alain had come to a halt by a solitary, old and forlorn willow tree which perched precariously amidst the moss-covered stones beside a deep marsh pool. Hugh was beside him, a large bone horn clasped in his hand. The rest of the retinue trudged into the clearing behind them, cramming into the small expanse of clear air in-between the misty veil when they gathered silently beside the tree.

Alain dismounted and strode up to the old willow, unsheathing his wand as he went. Intrigued, Godric watched his uncle step up to the gnarled tree and run one hand over the trunk. Raising his wand, he pressed it against a protruding knot and muttered an incantation beneath his breath. Yet, nothing happened.

Then suddenly the willow's branches rustled as a strong breeze rushed over the retinue and a vertical scroll of ancient engraved symbols were illuminated by a pearly light which seemed to shine from the heart of the tree itself. The wind whistled loudly like a screeching call, causing the horses to shift nervously. Then it was gone as soon as it had come, the sound subsiding into silence. Godric looked about him as Alain sat down on a protruding root, smiling in satisfaction. The company began to dismount, taking the opportunity to rub and stretch their aching limbs. The young boy followed suit, sidling up to Salazar who was gently running a hand across his mount's flank to calm the horse's unease.

'What happens now?' he asked, utterly bewildered by the series of strange events.

'We wait,' Salazar said simply,

'Wait for what?'

'The Ferryman,' replied Salazar with a smile, refusing to elaborate any further. The retinue rested as they waited for the mysterious Ferryman, some slumping down in relaxation whilst others tended to their nervous steeds. Alain, his back against the willow, appeared to be dozing lightly. Hugh alone stood at the edge of the clearing, hand resting on his sword hilt and peering into the mist as if expecting some monstrous enemy to come rushing out at any moment. Hamon, as restless as ever, shifted over to stand beside Godric,

'Looking forward to seeing Avalon?' Godric nodded in response,

'I can't wait,' he admitted sincerely, 'although I don't really know what to expect!' He heard a series of chuckles around him and discovered that he'd caused a great deal of good-natured amusement amongst his uncle's retainers,

'No one ever does,' a quiet voice agreed and Godric turned to find the taciturn Isolde smiling at him. She winked as a young, cheerful man called Gervais spoke up,

'I can still remember the first time I saw Avalon,'

'Can you?' asked his stoic brother, Gilbert, eying his younger sibling in surprise,

'Of course I can…'

'Weren't you drunk?'

'Still counts,' Gervais grinned, everything was just a little hazy.'

'Forget Avalon,' growled Bayard wistfully, 'I can't wait to see Ella's tits!' There was a groan from the waiting company.

'If she lets you,' smiled Hadrian, who seemed to enjoy lancing Bayard's bluster.

'Or can suffer his stink,' muttered Isolde, to the laughter of those around her.

'I bathed recently,' smirked Bayard, 'two full moons ago at least.'

'Lucky Ella,' commented Salazar dryly. Bayard swore at him,

'I've been hearing rumours about you lad. Make sure you keep that prick of yours in those breeches,' Bayard warned Salazar, who merely smirked at the implication, 'Ella needs a real man.'

'An elf wouldn't deserve a man like you,' Salazar scoffed.

'She certainly doesn't deserve a pimpled youth with too many mirrors,' Bayard grinned menacingly. The group howled at Salazar's expense, who merely sat scowling at Isolde, who returned his mulish look with a wry smile. Godric chuckled quietly, accidently drawing Bayard's uncouth attentions to him,

'Trust me,' he told Godric, 'wait until you see Ella. She's the greatest whore in the entire realm. A temptress who could bewitch the heart of any man, unless you're Lord Alain of course. So, don't go getting any ideas, being a blood relation to our Lord won't get you any benefits!' He leered at Godric, causing the younger boy to blush.

'Bayard,' Alain spoke up calmly, his eyes still closed, 'I hope you're not corrupting my nephew.'

'Wouldn't dream of it, Lord,' replied Bayard airily, 'just expanding the boy's knowledge of what to expect from life at Avalon; especially about Ella and her lovely tits. Just to warn you if you do get any ideas,' he leant towards Godric, 'there's no following in my footsteps. My manhood's the envy of the land!'

'Bayard,' Alain admonished, 'if you speak like that in front of my wife, then she'll banish you from Avalon for good.'

'And leave you devoid of your greatest knight?' A subtle, disbelieving cough came from the edge of the group. Everyone turned to look at Hugh, who didn't even bother meeting their gaze. However, no one could miss the smirk he tried to hide. There was a rumble of laughter,

'Hold your tongue, Troll-Bane,' called out Bayard good-humouredly, 'I'm no troll. Give me an axe and I'd chop you down to size!' Hugh glanced back, contemplating an answer, sizing Bayard with an experienced eye. After a moment, he shrugged dismissively,

'No,' he said, 'I'd still kill you.'

Amidst the cajoling and laughter which followed, Bayard's response was lost on Godric. Instead, the boy gazed past the surrounding figures to a point beyond the old willow, where a small ball of light had suddenly appeared, hovering above the marshy pool. Whispery flames of blue and violet hung in the air, held in place by old and forgotten magic. Godric's gaped at the hovering light,

'Lord?' he said loudly. His uncle's eyes sprang open and he stared at Godric in surprise, until the boy pointed over his shoulder. Twisting about, he looked at the hovering whisper of light. Then he smiled, leaping to his feet with acrobatic ease.

'The Ferryman,' he said. Striding over to Godric, Alain ruffled his nephew's red hair,

'Good eyes,' he praised, grinning as Godric reddened. The retinue sprang into the action, reaching for their weapons and horses. Once mounted, Alain led them to edge of the pool. Godric watched in astonishment as Alain's horse took a tentative step into the pool, only for a small stone to rise from its depths and stop the hooves from plunging beneath the murky surface. As Alain trod slowly past the unearthly ball of light, another appeared just beyond him, leading them through the mist. The retinue followed close behind, Godric hesitating at the pools edge before taking a deep breath and nudging his horse forwards until it trudged over the pool's otherworldly aura.

They made slow progress, following the spectral lights as they ambled through the mist. As they inched forwards, more and more lights joined the gleaming balls of whispery flame. They darted haphazardly like small birds around the retinue and Godric struggled to keep up with the fluttering lights. The boy's eyes widened when he realised that these weren't birds at all, but tiny beings with sleek bodies and large, dark eyes which scrutinised him inquisitively as they flew past. A splash made him look down and he saw more of the strange scaly creatures dashing through the watery pools like fish before flinging themselves into the air to leap over stones and marshy undergrowth. These were the fairies and sprites who inhabited the caverns and rocky pools along the hidden road to Avalon, the first native creatures to come to this ancient land.

Godric barely noticed the mist thinning until the light of the late evening sun half blinded him. Then it was gone, blocked by a huge towering shadow. Godric dragged his eyes away from the glowing creatures and looked up. His mouth immediately fell open because stood before them was the most incredible scene he had ever witnessed, for a castle had appeared from the misty veil.

A huge rocky hillside rose abruptly from the marshland. It was covered in trees, their leafy foliage a mirage of autumn colours and brimming with life. Huge rocky crags erupted from the hillside as many streams of clear water trickled about them, channelling into rocky pools or over waterfalls in a cascade of glistening splendour. Hundreds of apple trees had sprung from the hillside, their spiralling branches arching over small footpaths, in which hung many of the ripest fruits Godric had ever seen. A small trail had been cut into the rocks, rising past the waterfalls and wooded glades to the foot of an immense castle of gleaming stone.

The castle towered over the landscape like a silent sentinel of stone, as if watching over the outcrops of magical pools, meadows and glades of apple trees. Tall towers rose high, adorned with colourful banners hoisted on strong poles and fluttering in the wind. The castle's stone was the brightest white and seemed to bask in an ethereal light. Godric was rendered speechless, for all the castles he'd ever seen paled in comparison to Avalon. He didn't notice that Salazar was watching him until the boy's loud laughter stirred him from his internal wonder,

'Behold, the Isle of Apples and the ancient seat of the Lord of Avalon.'

Alain's retinue looked on with amusement at Godric's reaction as the group reached the steep path which rose up towards the castle's gate. Animals, both familiar and strange, paused in their daily routines to watch the company pass. Godric had yet to recover the use of his tongue. He was astonished at the beauty and majesty of what surrounded him, unable to comprehend that this mystical place was to be his new home. It was a truly magical place.

They finally reached the hill's brow after passing a huge grey boulder covered in thousands of carved symbols. Turning the corner, they beheld the spectacular sight of Avalon's gatehouse. Two worn, sculptured totems carved from rock in the form of ancient warriors who guarded the bridge, clutching huge spears and shields made of stone as they stood unmoving outside Avalon's ancient entrance. When they reached the bridge, Godric realised that it was placed over a huge chasm which disappeared down into a dark abyss, where fountains of moist vapour rose past on either side from some distant and unknown source. Huge wooden doors, reinforced with strips of thick iron hung open as they made their way into Avalon's inner bailey.

Godric had expected a large clamour to greet them, the blaring of great horns and shouts of jubilation from the castle's inhabitants. Instead, they were merely greeted by one solitary figure. A small woman stood alone, serenely watching the well-travelled group enter the castle's domain. Alongside the rest of Alain's retinue, Godric began to lead his horse towards a large wooden structure adjoining the castle's walls which he guessed were Avalon's stables. Yet, his attention strayed towards his uncle, who had broken away from his retainers and was now advancing towards the woman.

Coming to a stop before her, Alain slipped from the large mount's back and stood tall, eying the woman strangely. Then he dropped to his knees and bowed to her. A soft, caring smile broke over the woman's face before she reached out with a hand and gently stroked his face, starting from his greying locks and tracing it down to his chin, where she tilted it slightly so that Alain was forced to look up into her face. Alain suddenly beamed and the woman's own quickly joined it, her eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears.

'Lady,' he whispered softly. He kissed the pale hand which held him. Her eyes glistened further, and a single tear fell, but she was smiling fondly at the man's show of devotion.

'Foolish man,' she told him, before helping him rise to his feet. Then she was in his arms, embracing him lovingly as their lips finally met. It was astonishing for Godric to witness such an open and public display of affection. It was a foreign experience to a boy who had neither experienced nor witnessed it before. He was certain his father had never held his mother in such a way, especially in such blatant disregard for social propriety and he was stunned at how Alain and his wife seemed to revel in it.

The lovers broke apart, although they remained clasped in each other's embrace, with Alain smiling down at the woman in his arms and speaking in soft whispers so that no one else could hear them. Not wishing to interrupt the charming scene, Godric dismounted and, following the example set by Salazar and Hamon, began to lead his horse towards the stable when Alain called out to him,

'Godric,' he called, 'could you come here for a moment.'

Godric hesitated, but Hamon had already taken the reins from his hands with a smile, assuring him that he would care for the mount's needs. Freed from the responsibility of stabling his horse, Godric walked to where Alain stood with the small woman by his side. As he neared, he could make out the woman's elegant features more clearly. She stood demurely in a light, pale blue dress and exhibited a serenity that he doubted any other woman would ever be able to achieve in life. Braided, dark hair fell loose past her shoulders, framing a beautiful face with large, round eyes which were fixed intently upon Godric. Her smile appeared motherly and Godric couldn't help but feel as if an aura of mystery clung to her; one which wasn't quite human. However, he was interrupted from his reverie when a soft voice greeted him.

'Greetings Godric of Black-Hollow,' the woman said kindly, 'my husband informs me that you are the son of his sister Alys.'

'Yes, Lady,' Godric replied, finding his tongue.

'Alain also tells me that you are of magical blood and that you are to join our household.' Godric could only nod. He met her intense gaze, realising with astonishment that her eyes were a curious shade of violet.

'Then welcome to Avalon. I am Lord Alain's wife, Morwenna, and the mistress of his household,' suddenly she raised her voice for all to hear, 'Come. Your families and friends have prepared a great feast to welcome your return.' She turned to Godric and smiled warmly, 'we have much to discuss about your future, Godric of Avalon.'

Placing her hand on his shoulder, Morwenna led the boy towards the great keep and enraptured by the aura she radiated, Godric followed her wordlessly. They were closely followed by her husband, whose eyes still gleamed in wonderment at the woman he was completely devoted too, for the Lady of Avalon was a jewel and there was no luckier man in the kingdom than the Lord of the Isle of Apples.


	5. Chapter Four:The Dawn of a Bright Future

**The Dawn of a Bright Future**

'The Lord of Avalon is an ancient title,' Salazar told him between mouthfuls of roast heron, 'dating back over a thousand years to Arawn, the first Greycloak. Many others have been deemed worthy of the title and have added their magic to the wards and laws which govern Avalon's borders.'

Godric listened intently, enraptured by the older boy's tales. The food on his trencher lay forgotten, a hard task considering the rich and bountiful feast rustled up by Alain's household cook. It seemed to Godric that every recipe known to mankind was available at the table. There was pork, beef, mutton, venison and a variety of birds with pike, carp and eels caught in the local marshes laying alongside vegetables, nuts and succulent fruits gathered from Avalon's high hill. It was a meal fit for royalty.

With his stomach fit to burst, he now rested in the company of his uncle's household, listening to stories and making courteous introductions. He was well-accustomed to Alain's personal retainers after the journey from Westminster. There was young, cheerful Gervais and his stoic brother Gilbert; reserved Isolde; kind Hadrian and tall Tancred. Bayard was also present, having taken the seat to the side of Godric and appeared to be trying to consume an entire hog alone. Salazar and Hamon sat to his right, whilst opposite them sat his uncle, Morwenna and the ever-silent Hugh. Four more joined them at the high table. There was Lambert, the steward of Lord Alain's household, whose dour personality and unsmiling face seemed at odds with the general jovial atmosphere exhibited in Avalon's great hall. Another man, flamboyantly dressed in foreign and exotic clothing, was in deep conversation with Lady Morwenna, both thoroughly enjoying matching their wits against the other. The last two figures sat contemplating the hall around them, smiling contently. One, a small middle-aged man with a sunken eye, surprised Godric by wearing the simple habit of a Christian monk. The other was a middle-aged woman perched at the end of the bench, eating in peace and enjoying the conversations and laughter around her with half-lidded eyes.

'Of course,' continued Salazar, 'the most famous Lord of Avalon was Merlin. Apparently, he left more of a mark on Avalon than any other before and since, well, besides Lord Alain…' He gestured to their surroundings with his eating knife. A mighty stone table hung just below the hall's rafters behind Lord Alain's high seat. It was round and carved in swirling jade symbols.

'That's the feasting table of the warlord Arthur. Merlin gifted it to him as a token of their undying friendship,' Salazar explained further, 'It's well known that Merlin and Arthur shared a famous bond, a strange but not unheard-of circumstance for a wizard and Muggle. After he fell in battle, Merlin even insisted that Arthur was buried here, inside Avalon's ancient heroes. Legend says the warlord's famous sword lies deep in one of its sacred pools.'

Godric gaped at the great hall. A half-dozen statues lined the walls, each of the engraved totems stood as tall as a man and bore the likenesses of a different warrior. Hamon had told him that there were twelve in all, dotted about the halls of Avalon. These were Arthur's warriors; men such as Bedywr, Culhwch, Sagramor, Gwalchavad the Fair and Derfel Carden. As they did in life, they now guarded Arthur during his eternal slumber. Godric was drawn to them, sensing that he inhabited a world of renown and untold wonders. Colourful and ornately decorated, with roaring hearth fires and laughing people, the crowded hall was brimming with life. Godric could barely comprehend his good fortune.

'Only Lord Alain has added as extensively to Avalon as Merlin did. It was Alain who built this castle over the foundations of Merlin's crumbling and ruined stronghold. When he first came to Avalon it was in disrepair. This hall is all that remains of the Merlin's old designs…'

'For God sake,' interjected Bayard, crying out loudly in exasperation, 'you'll bore the poor lad to death if you keep on droning on!' Salazar scowled across Godric at the boorish man,

'I was trying to explain Avalon's heritage…'

'Well, congratulations, you've managed to explain how much of a pompous arse you are?' Bayard responded bluntly. Godric inched away from the man's breath, which reeked of ale and half-chewed food, 'the boy wants to hear stories about battles and duels and how his own uncle overcame two Seidr champions in the northern hills. What about how Troll-Bane got his name or how extraordinary I am in battle! But no, instead, you talk about bloody architecture!'

'I'm sure if he wanted to hear about feats of arms then he'd look elsewhere,' said Salazar grumpily, 'not even the most talented of troubadours could make your frequent brawls seem heroic, Le Boar.' The older man waved a hand in dismissal and was about to respond when Godric spoke up,

'I'd be happy to hear any story actually,' Godric said truthfully. He would be prepared to listen intently to any stories concerning swordsmanship, whether they were heroic deeds or brutish brawls. However, he was also fascinated by Salazar's history of Avalon, especially those tales concerning his uncle. His interruption succeeded in dampening quick tempers and Bayard's attention was distracted by the arrival of Magge, Avalon's talented cook, who approached the table to deliver more food to the man's loud declaration of love and devotion. Salazar scowled, simply picking at his food. However, he was soon roused out of his dour mood by the attentions of a group of young maids seated at a long table to the side of the hall. Following his gaze, Godric realised that one maid in particularly seemed to be showing an interest in his new friend. She was smiling shyly at Salazar and the darkly handsome youth was content to respond in kind, his own feelings blatant. Curiously, Godric noticed that the young maid's companions were more intrigued by Godric. The young boy immediately blushed at their attentions, which caused them to descend into a fit of giggles and Godric to redden further.

'That was well done,' someone said and Godric turned to find the monk watching him closely. Godric wilted under the scrutiny, but the monk smiled reassuringly,

'How you stopped their argument from escalating,' the monk explained, 'very impressive. It was almost reminiscent of a certain someone I know.' His shrunken eye glanced at Alain and the boy flushed at the comparison.

'My names Belin,' the man claimed, introducing himself politely, 'I have been informed by your uncle that I will be partially responsible for your education.'

Godric's horror must have shown. The monk gave a hearty laugh at the boy's expression, eying Godric with interest,

'I take it that like most wizards who have come before you, your experiences with the followers of Christ have been rather undesirable. I intend to change that and show you the good that comes with faith. The rest will fall too.'

'Me,' said a deep voice and Godric turned to start at the dark-skinned man who had been speaking to Lady Morwenna; whose attention had also been diverted towards Godric. The dark-skinned man bowed his head, 'my name is Yusuf-al-Qurtubi, and it is a pleasure to meet the nephew of Alain of Avalon.' Belin smiled at Godric,

'Yusuf and I are Lord Alain's scholars and the keepers of Avalon's records. In the years to come, we will seek to teach you the languages, histories and laws which you will need to master if you are to become a wizard of the magical world.'

Godric nodded uneasily. Like his previous tutor, whose malicious treatment of Godric had been a hell to endure, Belin was a Christian monk. But despite his sunken eye, his constant smile alluded to a kindly nature. Godric glanced at Yusuf, whose foreign garb and dark skin hinted at an origin and life beyond Britain's borders, perhaps even past those of Christendom. His skin bore the marks of hard travel and his eyes radiated wisdom gained from many experiences. Godric lacked both, but couldn't help feeling a flicker of nervous excitement at the prospect of being taught by these two world-weary men. Finally, his gaze fell on Lady Morwenna. Again, he was startled by the strange aura she radiated. She appeared neither young nor old, which made it impossible for Godric to guess her age. Yet her ever present gracefulness alluded to great stores of wisdom and magic.

'I will also contribute to your training,' she informed him with a gentle smile, 'under my guidance you will learn the theories behind magical lore, the histories of these islands and the secrets of Avalon itself.'

'Learning how to use magic will fall to me,' continued Alain, interrupting his conversation with Hugh to bestow a smile on his nephew, 'first you must understand the theory behind magic whilst I find you an apprentice's wand. Do we have any in our stores, Lambert?'

'Not that I am aware of, Lord,' the steward replied immediately.

'Mm, then I will have to find a different source. I'll send messages to the greatest wandmakers of our time.'

'As a squire for the Lord of Avalon, he will require the best of them,' Morwenna reminded him lightly. Alain recognised what she was hinting at instantly.

'I suppose so,' said Alain, staring at his wife fondly, 'then I'll approach the family and see if we can arrange a meeting. It'll be hard; for they spend much of the year venturing abroad into the wilds in their search of wand cores. We may be forced to wait, but if Godric is to have the best, then they are the only wizards I trust to provide it.' Morwenna looked pleased, whilst Godric felt a surge of excitement bubbling within him at the prospect of owning his very own wand.

'Once you have a wand,' Alain continued, 'I will seek to guide you, by the same methods I have guided Salazar thus far and my own master used on me. However, you must remember that as the King's Grand Sorcerer and an active member of the great council of Britain, I am a busy man. As such, my duties may call me away from Avalon for extended periods. In my absence, Yusuf will oversee your training. No man has such extensive knowledge of the magical arts of so many different cultures. His advice will be essential to your development; listen to what he offers you.'

Godric nodded, wondering what was to become of his martial training when placed against the demands of his magical lessons and duties as a squire. Morwenna fixed Godric with a piercing stare,

'My husband also tells me,' she said slowly, her face expressionless, 'that you wish to become a knight?' Godric blushed at this admission, fearing that she had read his thoughts. Perhaps his deepest desires were simply so transparent that they could be read easily by a trained eye. Bayard, now thoroughly drunk, roared his approval and clapped a bruising hand against Godric's back, almost catapulting the boy's face into his trencher. Those around them rolled their eyes and Morwenna's face briefly slipped into a scowl.

'Really Bayard?' She chastised him. Le Boar mumbled an apology, which was inconveniently disrupted by a drunken belch. Now Morwenna's distaste for the man could not be restrained. Suddenly her demeanour changed and for the first time in Godric's presence, her serene countenance vanished and she seemed to be on the brink of bursting into a scathing tirade at Bayard's boorish manners. However, a large hand slid over hers and the gentle caress of her husband's tanned fingers on her alabaster skin stilled any verbal onslaught before it could materialise. Sighing, she turned and shared a small smile with Alain. Their attention returned to Godric,

'It's true, Lady,' the boy finally replied. Morwenna nodded, before gesturing to Hugh, who had yet to address anyone other than Alain and Morwenna during the feast.

'I can sense the noble spirit of a warrior in you, Godric. If this is your will, then your martial training is in Hugh's hands,' she said simply, 'our castellan has been Alain's loyal companion for many years. Indeed, he was by Alain's side when they first came to Avalon. There is no better knight in all the realm.'

Godric turned to Hugh, who seemed unmoved by Morwenna's praise of his martial prowess, although he did meet Godric's gaze. They stared at each other for a moment, before his lips twitched in the briefest of smirks. It was more menacingly than any verbal promise that his knightly training would prove to be a hardship.

'Now, Morwenna,' laughed Alain good-naturedly, 'if you carry on praising Hugh like this I may have cause to be jealous.'

'Oh, Lord Alain,' a sultry voice said from behind Godric as a tall woman strode past, her long red hair swaying with every subtle movement of her hips, 'I'm sure you have nothing to fear.' Bayard practically roared at the woman's arrival, lunging forward and dragging her onto his lap. The woman let out a short bark of laughter, slapping the man's fondling hands away as they rose towards her breasts.

'Not a chance, Bayard,' she chastised him sternly, leaning away from him in exasperation, 'you stink like a hog and I still haven't received my payment for the last time I serviced you.'

'But my beautiful…' Bayard tried to protest,

'See to yourself, you great oaf,' she huffed, used to his feeble excuses and desperate pleas. Yet, she remained perched on his lap, gently running a hand over the creases in her ruffled dress. If Morwenna had been scowling at Bayard, then she was positively glaring at this woman, who met Morwenna's gaze unflinchingly. The air around the two women was immediately thick with tension.

'I wouldn't dream of straying into your territory, Ella,' Morwenna hissed scathingly. It dawned on Godric quickly who the strident woman was. Ella, the fabled whore of Avalon.

'I'm sure I'd have no reason to fear even if you did, dear Lady,' replied Ella, just as cattily.

'How have you been faring Ella?' asked Alain, again stroking his wife's hand to placate her temper, although Morwenna seemed to be struggling considerably in Ella's presence.

'Not very well, no thanks to you!' she pouted, 'Taking away my business, Lord. How very callous of you. Letting a humble whore like me go on impoverished and without the means to make a living.' Alain chuckled at the lie whilst his wife snorted, rolling her eyes. Ella ignored the Lady of Avalon. Instead, she cast an eye over the three youths sat at the high table.

'But I see that you have brought fresh delicacies for me to sample,' she said appraisingly, an almost predatorily feline glint in her eye. Salazar and Hamon both grinned at her, but as her gaze landed on Godric the boy felt his blush return tenfold. She smiled at him, 'and who is this young man?'

'This is Godric,' Alain answered patiently, 'my nephew and the latest addition to our household.'

'Really,' she said, her eyes twinkling deviously, 'fascinating; and so full of potential.'

'Isn't he a little young, even for your tastes Ella?' interrupted Morwenna,

'True,' the whore replied, 'but when the time comes, I'll be sure to teach him the real skills that truly make a man.' She winked at Godric, who blushed even redder, speechless at the promise in her voice.

'He's just a boy,' Morwenna snapped incredulously, appalled at Ella's behaviour.

'One day he'll be a man,' Ella responded acidly, 'besides, I thought the reason I was hired was to entertain the needs of Lord Alain's retinue. I recall that was the understanding when I arrived in Avalon? Or would you prefer the men to spend their seed in your maids and have lots of little bastards roaming the castle?'

'If you're looking for a real man,' grunted Bayard suggestively, his fingers playing with the edges of Ella's dress as he scratched at a louse scurrying in his thick beard. Ella huffed dramatically, slapping the man's hand away for the second time.

'Then I'll be sure to send him your way.' Ella replied as she leapt off Bayard's lap amidst jaunty cajoling. She bowed low to both Lord Alain and Lady Morwenna, albeit a little stiffly when facing the Lady of Avalon. Then with one last alluring smile at the three boys, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd to find a customer to ply her trade and earn more coin.

'The power politics of Avalon,' said Belin in a hushed whisper, leaning towards Godric. Indeed, the boy was intelligent enough to realise that the relationship between Lady Morwenna and Avalon's whore was fraught with mutual dislike, although a thinly veiled truce seemed to be held between the two women.

'She's…' Godric began, but was interrupted by Hamon, whose eyes hadn't left Ella's retreating hips,

'Bewitching!' Hamon concluded dreamily and Bayard heartily agreed, turning to leer at the monk, 'even you must be tempted, Belin?'

'Perhaps,' allowed Belin with a smile, 'but I'm merely a humble monk. Any man who wants to rut with Ella needs deeper pockets than me and a hoard of treasure at their disposal. Ella sells nothing cheaply…'

'Except her morals,' Morwenna hissed under her breath, causing those around her to chuckle lightly.

'Peace my love,' Alain dismissed his wife's dislike with an easy shrug, 'Ella is a key and necessary cog in the workings of the household. Even you admit it. Besides, she also brews the greatest ale to ever grace the halls of Avalon…' There was a cheer from the gathered men, especially Hamon, who had demonstrated a fondness for Ella's brewed ale.

'A respectable trade,' smiled Yusuf, who hadn't drunk a single sip of ale that night.

'It's certainly a flavoursome one,' replied Belin, who had drunk copious amounts.

'The boys are still young,' concluded Alain, 'but they'll be men soon and I'll give them the free-will to make their own choices. I'd rather they bed an experienced hand like Ella, who knows the remedies to avoid accidents, rather than straying to more naïve hands.'

Alain had spoken blandly, but as he said it he fixed Salazar with a knowing gaze. The young wizard blushed and refused to meet the Lord of Avalon's eyes, understanding that like Godric, Alain had noticed how Salazar's prying eyes lingered on the group of maids. Those who noticed stifled chuckles at Salazar's expense. However, Hamon had neither the maturity nor sobriety to behave subtlety. He slapped his fellow squire on the back and laughed drunkenly at the other boy's misfortune until he yelped as a sharp kick stung his shins, visibly wilting beneath his father's stern gaze.

From there the feast's festivities began to subside, as jovial chatter descended into tired or drunken conversation. Others simply rested peaceably in the comfort of Avalon's warm atmosphere or drifted into a slumber caused by overindulgence of good food and potent ale.

Godric remained restless. Avalon was an extraordinarily different experience to what he'd been accustomed to in Black-Hollow's sombre halls. Sitting at the high table of an ancient dwelling in the presence of a mighty magnate and his fair lady, Godric was content to watch those who had welcomed him so effortlessly into their company. Belin and Yusuf were debating amicably together in a corner, the subject of which Godric could not understand. Hamon's head was drifting towards his trencher as ale and fatigue caught up with him. Bayard, soon unashamedly drunk, was loudly trying to raise enough coin to satisfy Ella's price by challenging anyone in proximity to an arm wrestle. Salazar, the boy who would be training to be a wizard alongside Godric, was content to sit and watch the dying flames of the hearth fire, fighting against the urge to glance at the gathered maids and further confirm Alain's suspicions.

Yet, the greatest difference lay with Alain and Morwenna themselves. The Lord and Lady of Avalon were wrapped in a world in which they were the sole inhabitants, laughing and talking together in indulgent and tender whispers. Sometimes Alain would trace a delicate finger over his wife's face, his steely eyes sparkling in wonder as if Morwenna was a figment of a brilliant dream and he barely dared to believe his good fortune. Morwenna looked at her husband with the same eyes, answering his touch with loving smiles.

Soon they rose and bid their household hall good-night, disappearing towards the tower for the privacy of their marriage bed. Watching them go, Godric sighed in contentment. He would soon follow their example and seek out a bed for the night. The next dawn promised to begin a long and arduous road towards an unknown future and he would need his rest to meet the challenge head on. However, Godric wouldn't retreat from the hall yet, for there was still enough time to extract a few more tales from a moping Salazar about the numerous wonders of Avalon.

Listening keenly as his friend began to regale him with more tales, Godric smiled as Black-Hollow and his suffering at his father's hand were cast aside. For the first time in his life, Godric felt as if he belonged somewhere.


	6. Chapter Five: Squire

**Squire**

Avalon, 1087

The sun shone high over the fields as the world around him clamoured with the sound of glorious battle. Bright flags flew high in the wind and armoured figures clashed in an epic contest of strength and will. Godric strode towards a tempest of struggling fighters, men roaring as gleaming swords clashed. The call of blaring horns rose over the uproar and Godric was eager to join the mass of fighting men before him; to prove that he was the doer of such heroic deeds that even the heroes of ancient legend would applaud his prowess. Godric felt no fear. Instead, courage dominated his heart as he swept past fallen figures veiled by the long grass.

'Avalon!' he shouted, 'Avalon.' Men answered his call, cheering him as he strode towards where the clamour of battle raged loudest. Godric beamed with the joy of battle. He was a warrior and he would prove it to all who doubted him.

A bright flash erupted at his feet. Godric stopped instantly, staring down at the scorched earth, the spell's magical residue still crackling. His breath suddenly caught in his throat and his heart froze. For amidst the mass of struggling bodies marched a dark figure. He was a monstrous man, towering above all who surrounded him. He approached out of the press of fighting men and Godric saw that he was clad from head to foot in a mail hauberk, whilst his face was hidden behind the mask of his helmet. He was drenched in blood and his shaded eyes were fixed on Godric. With one step after another, he thundered towards Godric, who seemed to shrink as he stared at the giant in horror. The sky darkened gloomily, and silence descended over the battlefield. Looking about him, Godric realised that the once sun-kissed greenery was now stained with blood. Corpses littered the ground, their faces contorted for eternity in agonised screams and discarded weapons lay about them. Swords, spears and shields lay broken and bloodied bones hewn long ago were strewn across the place of slaughter.

Godric was horrified by the brutality around him. He felt sickened by it, cowering in fear as the giant strode forwards, a wand and sword in the brute's hands and a malicious smile visible beneath the eyeless helm. The behemoth revelled in the chaos of the world around them, for he was a bringer of death; a killer of men. Godric's sword was suddenly heavy and he shrank away from the ghoulish creature, who began to laugh as he reached Godric, his sword rising and the wand cackling…

'Godric,' an irritated voice broke across the scene like thunder. Godric felt the sharp crack of a palm slapping the back of his head and his eyes were suddenly flung open. The monstrous, blood-soaked slayer was gone. In his place stood the scholarly Yusuf, who stared down at Godric in exasperation,

'Stupid boy,' he snapped impatiently. Godric blinked. Glancing to his side, he found Salazar smirking beside him. Embarrassed, Godric had the good sense to mumble a hasty apology.

'Daydreaming again,' Yusuf ranted, completely ignoring the boy's apology, 'wasting my precious time. If you persist in this folly instead of listening to what I teach, then you'll be a poor excuse for a wizard and I'll be forever shamed.' Godric gulped, though not because of Yusuf's ramblings. He still felt unnerved by his dream. The horror of battle was thankfully gone, replaced by the warm confines of the castle's scriptoria, a small room built into a high tower which housed Avalon's vast library. Wisps of snow fluttered past the small window, although the chill of the winter's breeze didn't penetrate the tower's interior, which was kept at bay by a useful charm.

'I am the keeper of fabled works composed when the earliest and most ancient wizards walked this earth. The writings of Dzou Yen, Ptolemy, Hekate and the venerable Merlin are at my disposal. Yet, before my very eyes, an ignorant fool has the audacity to daydream during my lessons…my lessons!' He flung his hands in the air, sending his vibrant robes swirling around him. Salazar, who had been paying rapt attention to Yusuf's lecture as he always did, rolled his eyes at Yusuf's theatrics. Godric flushed, feeling guilty for his foolishness.

It wasn't that Godric found Yusuf's lessons boring. On the contrary, Godric found his time with the man enlightening. Much like Avalon itself, the library seemed to be brimming with untold tales. From the great, stone kelpie which guarded the library's door to the strange relics and trinkets scattered about the tower, Yusuf's self-proclaimed domain in Avalon was a treat for anyone with Godric's vibrant imagination.

Yusuf was an interesting man. The scholar lived for the great manuscripts stored around them. As Alain had claimed and the nature of his lessons soon proved, Yusuf had a more thorough knowledge and understanding of the theories behind magic than any other wizard alive. He lectured with a passion and held up the scholars, poets and philosophers who had written these records in greater esteem than the warrior-heroes whom Godric idealised. Wise enough to realise this, Godric usually sat in silence as Yusuf spoke on and on about the mysteries of the wizarding world, although he never seemed as apt at understanding the old wizard's teaching than Salazar and his mind would sometimes wander.

However, if the boys pestered him enough and he was feeling unusually generous, then Yusuf could be encouraged to tell tales of his extensive adventures travelling the world. Godric was often left astounded as Yusuf described images of exotic and far-flung lands. Born to a humble wizard and a merchant's daughter in Moorish Cordoba, he had set out to explore the world at a young age. He'd visited every corner of Christendom and had gone far beyond its borders. He'd sailed to the icy vastness across the northern seas and glimpsed a strange land beyond the fringes of those cold, ice-bound islands. To the south, he'd explored the mysteries of African mages and ha trudged along the silk roads to the exotic east, before returning over the vast grassy seas of the steppes which stretched out from Novgorod.

Yusuf conjured tales of the mightiest and most vile creatures and populated his stories with vivid memories of the strange people that Godric had ever heard of. Untold treasures he'd assembled filled the chamber, whilst the writings of famous wizards and witches from many cultures over thousands of years were now stored in Avalon. It was Yusuf's proudest achievement and it had brought the outlandish wizard to the Lord of Avalon's attention.

'Merlin boy,' Yusuf cried loudly, abruptly shaking a sheepish Godric from his internal musings. 'Twice he wallows in the realms of fancy rather than paying attention to me. That does it. You're both dismissed for the day. Come back tomorrow when you're prepared to listen. Go and waste someone else's time…'

He waved his wand, flinging the library's door open with such force it rebounded off the stone kelpie with shuddering force. The two boys hastily retreated and as soon as they'd stepped across the threshold, the door thundered shut behind them. Godric and Salazar shared a look, before grinning sheepishly. Muffling their laughter so that they didn't entice Yusuf's wrath further, they descended the spiralling staircase and headed for the great hall.

'You've really pissed him off this time,' Salazar told him as Godric shrugged, 'I've been Lord Alain's squire for three years now and I've never seen him as pissed off as much as you have over the last four months.'

'You're such a saint,' Godric mumbled, prompting Salazar's grin to widen,

'What were you even daydreaming about this time?'

'Nothing much,'

'Knew it!' Salazar chuckled,

'You knew what?'

'I knew this would happen as soon as Morwenna started mentioning battles,' his friend stated and Godric grinned wryly in response.

Salazar was right. Morwenna had been lecturing Godric on the history of magical Ireland and the two rival schools of magic who struggled for supremacy over that ancient land; the nurturing school of Cliodhna and the warlike followers of Medb. Then she spoke of Clontarf, a fierce battle where the rival schools had united against the incursions of the foreign Seidr wizards and raiders. It was an epic clash, with the sea and land turning red with blood. It had also been a costly victory, with Muggle kings and many heroes falling alongside their enemies, but it was also a great blow for the Seidr warlocks and their sword-wielding kinsmen. The wizards of Tara regained their land, whilst the Seidr were driven into the sea.

Godric's boyhood idealisation of war had been fired by the tale, although he remained woefully ignorant of the tragic consequences of battle. As the nature of his dream proved, this view had yet to leave him. Over the four months since Godric's arrival at Avalon, it had become well known that Godric aspired to be a knight and he would spend hours listening to a well-spun tales of heroic deeds. Salazar wasn't surprised that Godric's thoughts still dwelled on the subject.

'You should pay more attention to what Yusuf teaches you,'

'I do,' replied Godric. It was true and Godric respected Yusuf greatly and could usually keep his wandering daydreams at bay, 'I'm just tired. I'm still getting used to my duties.'

'Fair enough,' Salazar agreed as they reached the great hall, remembering with a grimace the exhaustion which had plagued the early months of his own arrival at Avalon. The two squires found the great hall mostly empty, the long tables which had been heaving with Avalon's inhabitants on the night of Alain's return sitting unused along the hall's far side. Only the servant Heloise remained, replacing the scented rushes used on the hall's floor. She barely spared the boys a glance, Salazar's roguish smile lost upon her, which caused Godric to chuckle lightly. With the rare free time allotted to them, the boys decided to head to the kitchens to pilfer a meagre meal, a hard task to accomplish under Magge's all-seeing eyes.

In the four months since Godric came to Avalon, he had been constantly exhausted as he acclimatised to the inherent rigours and duties that marked the life of a squire. Every day was spent being given instructions in a range of skills which would help him fit into both the magical world and the Muggle realm.

Most of Godric's time was spent being educated by his triumvirate of teachers. Aside from Yusuf's lessons on far-flung cultures and magical theory, Godric was also being taught to read and write, not just in the dominant French and Latin vernaculars, but in a whole myriad of languages. Greek, Gaelic, Welsh, English and Nordic runes were also deemed to be important to a young wizard's training. This gargantuan task fell to the monk Belin, who was a master in each. In the beginning, Godric had believed Belin's lessons would be tedious affairs. However, the monk was a cheerful and kindly character who was always willing to offer a wise word of advice. He was forever amicable and under his friendly guidance, Godric found himself steadily grasping an understanding of these languages. The rest of his magical education was left in Morwenna's hands.

Godric could vividly remember his first lesson in Morwenna's company. Alain's wife was a gentle and spiritual being with an extensive knowledge of the history of magical Britain and Godric had followed her from the castle to the gardens and glades of apple tree which surrounded the bailey's outer-wall. The aging woman who had been dozing at the high table throughout the welcoming feast turned out to be Lady Morwenna's personal handmaiden, Aelflaed, who had followed close behind in tranquil silence. They had soon reached a small clearing which housed an old stone bench, embroidered with vines. Rays of autumn sunshine wafted through overhanging branches filled with glowing apples. Perching on the bench, Morwenna had instructed Godric to sit on the soft grass by her feet.

'For most of the year, this secret glade will be your place of learning,' she informed him, 'I find that its tranquillity soothes the mind and refreshes the soul. Only in winter will we seek the warmth of the keep. Whilst here, I will strive to further your understanding of the histories of the magical cultures which have inhabited these islands. As your mind matures, we will approach the subtle arts which govern herbal and magical lore and develop your talents in potion-brewing and charms. Do you understand me?'

Godric nodded dumbly as she leant down and picked up a ripe apple which had recently dropped from a tree. Smiling, she took a small bite from the fruit, her eyes closing momentarily in pleasure as her taste buds were assaulted by the succulent taste.

'Under my guidance, you will come to understand the secrets of the Isle of Apples,' She continued, 'Avalon has had a long history and has been ruled by mages who have served it for both good and ill. As a squire to my husband, many will expect you to know Avalon's secrets. Tell me Godric, are you loyal to Lord Alain?'

Godric almost spluttered, taken aback by the probing question and her sudden, piercing tone.

'Of course, Lady,' he claimed instantly, feeling indignant that his loyalty would be questioned. Morwenna's eyes blazed fiercely as they met Godric's own,

'Would you stay loyal to him,' she asked, 'even if another promised you your heart's desire?'

'Yes,' he replied firmly with only briefest hesitation.

'What if it was a friend who demanded that you betray him, or maybe a king?' She inquired relentlessly, giving the boy no quarter.

'I'd remain loyal…'

'Even if your father demanded it?' This made Godric pause. His father? The man whose approval he had yearned for all his life; the man who had beaten him to the threshold of death and who's abusive clutches Alain had so charitably plucked him from. Would Godric really betray the man who had saved him and who had brought him to Avalon if his father desired it?

'I owe my life to my uncle,' said Godric clearly, 'I will not betray him!'

For a moment all was silent and Morwenna's features remained expressionless and cold. Then her face split into the most radiant smile Godric had ever received. Her eyes glistened with unshed emotion as she looked at Godric with unmasked relief. Jarringly, it reminded Godric of his mother.

'I never believed otherwise,' she admitted softly, 'and I apologise for my behaviour. It was unseemly. However, I had to ask, to ease my own fears.' Godric, who had initially felt indignant at Morwenna's inquisition, felt sympathy stir within his heart for Morweena, who despite her severe and elegant countenance, was still a wife who feared for her beloved husband.

'Promise me,' she pressed on, 'that you will stay loyal to Alain?'

'I swear it, Lady,' Godric responded adamantly, this time without a pause.

'You have a good heart Godric. I understand your loyalty is based on gratitude. Your uncle is a great man. I wouldn't love him if he wasn't. Alain has always seen potential in people, even in those who do not see it in themselves. It's what draws us all to him. I hope that one day your loyalty will go beyond gratitude to become love.'

Since that morning, Godric and Morwenna's bond had grown stronger. In her lessons, she spoke about all the traditions of magic. Godric soon learned of the heroic and dark wizards of ancient Greece, from Andros the Invincible and Falco Aesalon to Orpheus and Herpo the Foul. She told him how all-powerful witches such as Medea, Circe and Hekate, 'the Queen of Ghosts', had founded ancient schools of magic which still explored the mysteries of the light and dark arts. He was told how the Roman wizards were masters at merging their magic with the foundations of their great architectural structures, weaving wards into the stone so powerful that their residue could still be felt lying dormant in the ancient achievements whose pilfered remains lay scattered across Britain.

Yet, Morwenna did not stop with the wizards of antiquity. Godric discovered how the legions and mages of Rome had almost succeeded in obliterating the native traditions of the Britons when they ransacked the sacred places of the druids. Only with the coming of Merlin centuries later did these traditions prosper from a revival which still influenced Britain.

Furthermore, together they explored the diverse histories of Britain's magical people, from the wild ways of the Gaelic warlocks and otherworldly arts of tattooed northern hedge-wizards, to the blunt and battle-hardened practices of the English and Welsh. Morwenna had little to say about the seers who were afflicted with strange dreams foretelling future events. Even wizards were wary of prophecies, disparaging them as either flights of fancy or dangerous tools in games of power. To have the sight was to be cursed for life.

Having suffered torment at the hands of bullying Churchmen, Godric was surprised to discover that some wizards were devout followers of Muggle gods. More astonishingly, some wizards still clung to the ancient pagan ways, abiding by the customs and bloody rituals which had once been practiced across the whole of Britain. The most venerated of these was the Great Mother, a deity of water, wind, fire and the earth, who was still worshipped by mysterious cults and covens. These included the Fae-Whisperers, maidens who danced and feasted in the Great Mother's honour and the feared Children of Hilda, barbaric shape-shifters who sprang from woodland dwellings and led great hunts to terrorise the common folk. However, more wizards like Alain were forsaking all the gods of men, choosing to believe in their magic to forge their own fates rather than trusting in any divine power.

Finally, there were the traditions which hailed from Scandinavia, brought to Britain by the warriors and wizards who had raided Britain's windswept coast for centuries. These were the Seidr, great masters of war and transfiguration, who had sailed across the northern seas to bring terror to Britain. They had a brutal reputation and a penchant for the dark arts, performing violent rituals like the grisly blood-eagle where they used spells to carve their victims into bloody ruin before spreading their innards in offering to their pagan gods. This magical tradition had once plagued Britain before it was supplanted by the flowering wizardry of the Normans. Alain had been amongst the first Norman wizards to sail with William of Normandy in his conquest and had faced the Seidr in battle. Godric marvelled at how such a fearsome power could have been defeated.

'What happened to them?' Godric had asked one winter's day. It was a week before Christmas and they had been forced to seek out the keep to escape the winter's snow, 'to the Seidr?'

'They still exist, although their grip on Britain is broken,' Morwenna explained, 'they still hoard power in the islands to the west and north of Scotland, supported by their kinsmen across the sea. The Battle of Clontarf destroyed their hold on Ireland and they were weakened by the fall of Hardrada and his army in battle. However, they managed to retain power in the north for a short while after, but their influence was all but ruined during the Harrying…'

'The Harrying?'

'A terrible war between the Norman and Seidr wizards. Your uncle survived those battles, as did Hugh. I will not speak of it. If you wish to sate your curiosity, then I would encourage you to approach them. But heed this warning; neither likes to dwell on that time. The Harrying took place long before they arrived in Avalon, when they were both young and different men. It was a brutal experience which has scarred them both.'

Godric could only nod and wisely accept her advice. Although his confidence had grown since his arrival in Avalon, he lacked the courage to probe deeper into an event which had profoundly marked the two men.

Godric soon grew fond of Morwenna. Some of his favourite memories were of the peace of mind this tranquil environment gave him, simply listening to Morwenna's gentle voice or the sound of Aelflaed sitting to side with her distaff, spinning wool with an ever-contented smile. Amongst most of the inhabitants of Avalon, Morwenna was known for possessing a compassionate nature. But to Godric and Salazar, Morwenna extended a motherly devotion that was needed and appreciated by both. Not once had she raised her voice, although she was prepared to scold them if they misbehaved. After capturing Salazar flirting with her maids, she had taken him aside and whispered a warning in his ear. From Salazar's unusually pale complexion and how he had a habit of wincing when a maid crossed their path, Godric could only assume that it had been a threat detailing the repercussions of such a venture masked as a thinly veiled scolding. After all, Godric was sure that it was a smirk Morwenna had hidden behind her hand when she next spotted Salazar unsubtly attempting to avoid her.

Walking beside Salazar, Godric smiled fondly at the pleasant memories as he was led to Avalon's stables, where laying on the straw amongst the beasts was a familiar tawny haired youth. He was dosing peaceful, unaware that he'd been discovered ignoring his duties. A sharp kick to the arse brought him swiftly out of his slumber.

'I'm awake,' he stuttered, disorientated,

'You're a lazy shit, Hamon,' Salazar replied unsympathetically, leaning against the horse's stall Hamon had been ordered to clean and had only half completed.

'Had a large breakfast,' he shrugged ruefully,

'Merlin, all you do is sleep and eat!'

'Not always,' Hamon said with a knowing smile. His appetite and ability to sleep anywhere was famous in Avalon, as was his good-humoured nature, 'besides, it gets boring when you two are learning magic and all that weird stuff.'

Godric felt the familiar stirring of sympathy for Hamon and a glance at an uneasy Salazar only reinforced it. It must have been lonely for the sociable Hamon when he was forced to complete his duties alone without Godric and Salazar to accompany him. Unlike his companions, Hamon was a Muggle and so was barred from joining them their magical lessons. Despite this, Godric had never once heard Hamon complain about the circumstances of his birth.

'Anyway,' Hamon chirped curiously, 'aren't you two supposed to be with Yusuf?'

'We were,' Salazar replied, eying Godric in amusement. Hamon understood instantly and laughed aloud,

'Daydreaming again?' Hamon chuckled, smiling at Godric's sheepish grimace,

'I can't blame you. Was it another battle? I bet you looked glorious, using your sword to smite your enemies and making the fair maidens cry out in wonder at your prowess.'

'I suppose,' Godric lied, the image of a towering, bloodied figure flashing through his mind. Once again, he felt unnerved by the strange quality of his dream.

'Thought so,' Hamon said smugly, 'I'd watch that head of yours Godric, you might be good with a sword, for an amateur, but if you start thinking you're a paladin, you'll look in mirror one morning and see Salazar's ugly face staring back. I don't think Lord Alain could afford another Palace of Mirrors.'

'Oi!' snapped Salazar as Godric laughed at Hamon's mocking name for Salazar's small chamber and his fabled collection of mirrors.

'We've got some free time before we have to go to the tiltyard,' said Godric, tactfully defusing the situation before Hamon's jests could provoke an angry response from Salazar.

'Brilliant, give me a hand with this and I'll come with you.' Godric was more than willing to help Hamon, who had proved to be a decent friend. He was perpetually good-natured and always ready to help Godric acclimatise to his tasking duties. Grumbling quietly, Salazar joined them. This was often how they spent their time together and the three boys had developed a strong bond. Their sleeping quarters were situated in the same tower and they had grown accustomed to sharing the responsibility of serving Alain. If required, they would help him dress, bring him food or wine and help care for his arms and animals. Under Salazar and Hamon's tutorage, Godric learned how to serve the high table during the day's communal meal, how to clean Alain's mail hauberk by persistently scrubbing it in a sand barrel and how to care for Alain's hounds, hawks, and horses. In addition, Godric brought a thirst to succeed to every task and which flourished most of all in Avalon's tiltyard.

Wandering across the bailey, Godric could feel the familiar bubbling excitement which welled within him every time he neared the tiltyard. The arena was already crowded, as it always was when Alain's retainers were home. Hugh's word was law in the tiltyard and he led a fearsome regime of daily practice. Standing to the side, he barked orders and advice at all who participated. If one person believed that they were skilled and experienced enough to demand a break, then Hugh would stride into the arena and face them himself. It always ended the same way, with Hugh still standing and his opponent whimpering and nursing sore wounds.

Godric was in awe of Hugh Troll-bane, for in the castellan he saw the martial prowess of bygone heroes. Hugh was a master of war, capable of using lance, bow, axe and a multitude of other weapons. Yet, his strongest expertise lay in the sword. With a sword in his hand, Hugh was unbeatable in battle and could often be seen striding about Avalon with his mighty blade strapped to his back. The sword was a beautifully crafted weapon which had served him well throughout his battle-hardened life.

Godric's first lesson under Hugh's tutelage was burned into his memory. It occurred at dawn during his first week in Avalon and he was still exhausted when he had been ordered to take hold of a large stick, roughly shaped like a sword. Unaccustomed to the stick's considerable weight and holding it awkwardly, Godric had cautiously entered a small arena. He was soon followed by Hugh, who also carried a large staff. Avalon's castellan had glared at the boy,

'Ready yourself,' he had growled and before Godric's eyes could widen Hugh leapt at him. The stick flashed through the air and with a crack, Hugh had landed a stinging blow to Godric's left arm with enough force to send the boy reeling. Godric couldn't stop the cry of pain that escaped him but hastily bit his lip to silence it. He stumbled back, his arm numbed by the blow. Hugh gave him enough time to right himself before coming at him again, his staff hissing as it whirled through the air.

This time, Godric raised his own staff to defend himself. There was a crack as wood met wood before a sudden pain exploded across his stomach. He'd barely registered Hugh's second stroke, which swung under the boy's guard with dazzling speed and forced the breath from his body. Godric crashed to the ground, wheezing painfully. Standing over him, Hugh shook his head at the boy' dismal display. Glancing up, Godric saw contempt in the man's eyes. He felt his anger rise and the demon reared its head, barring its teeth fiercely.

Godric's jaw clenched determinedly before struggling to his feet, ignoring his aching body as a murmur ran through the watching retinue. Saying nothing, Godric shifted into a prepared position, his staff held up before him and waiting for the oncoming onslaught. Hugh carried on watching him for a moment, then sprang into an attack.

Their sparring was short-lived, but this time, Godric survived long enough to trade several blows with the castellan before he was forced to the ground, his head spinning after Hugh had rapped him across the back of the head. Godric couldn't believe how fast Hugh was. For such a large figure, the man was incredibly nimble on his feet, darting past any danger to deliver a blow with the speed of a striking snake. After putting Godric down twice in as many minutes, Hugh simply turned and began to stride away.

However, he stopped short when he saw Godric struggling to his feet again. The boy had shaken his head to clear it, before regaining his posture and readying himself for Hugh's next attack. He didn't register the murmur of approval that escaped those watching him. He had eyes only for Hugh, who after briefly blinking in surprise, came at the boy in a flurry of blows.

Time and time again, Godric was driven down into the dirt. Each time, he found the willpower to return to his feet. Slowly, he began to trade more blows with the warrior before he was beaten and to his surprise he discovered that he was able to judge Hugh's intentions, although his body was still too slow to act in time to defeat Hugh's stinging blows.

'Enough,' Hugh eventually barked, after Godric had gotten shakily back to his feet following the eighth bruising beating he had received. He stared at the boy for a long while.

'You have bravery, boy,' he told Godric, 'and you learn quickly. Eat well, train hard and let your strength build. Then we'll face each other again.'

Godric had been dismissed into Bayard's hands. Le Boar was many things; uncouth, wild and troublesome. But he was also a fearsome and canny soldier who had many tricks at his disposal. For months, Bayard put Godric through a regime of punishing ideals. Every day, the boy would hack and thrust at a man-sized wooden stake, learning to imitate the strokes of a sword until his muscles ached from the exertion. He was exercised in both swordplay and horsemanship, becoming accustomed to handling a lance by first running at a target and then mimicking the action on horseback. Bayard also taught him the devilish tricks of the sword trade, ruses which whilst incredibly ignoble, could one day save the boy's life. Surprisingly, Godric excelled at it and pushed his body to exhaustion to meet both Bayard and Hugh's high demands, throwing himself into his training with youthful abandon and never complaining that any task was too difficult to accomplish. Broken bones followed torn muscles and bruised limbs, but each injury was quickly healed by Morwenna's magic and the next day would see Godric return to the tiltyard, eager to improve and not commit the same mistakes again.

Today, Hugh saw the trio of squires approaching the tiltyard long before they finally reached it.

'You're early?'

'Yusuf released us and Hamon has completed his duties,' Salazar explained, conveniently glossing over the real reason. Hugh wasn't fooled, judging by the knowing look he levelled at Godric. Nevertheless, he let it pass and allowed them to prepare for the day's training. However, as Godric started towards Bayard, he discovered Hugh standing in his way.

'Not today,' the castellan said, gesturing for Godric to follow him into the arena, 'today you face me.'

Godric barely had time to register his growing nerves. Hugh had witnessed most of his training bouts, only ever missing them when his duty as Alain's closest companion drew him away from Avalon. Godric was sure the castellan was aware of his progress already, but a loud call drew his attention back to Hugh.

'Prepare yourself.' Then Hugh was there, leaping towards him with his heavy staff descending towards the boy's head. But this time, Godric's staff rose to parry it aside. Hugh recovered quickly, flicking his wrist to sweep the staff around and hack at Godric's leg. It only met empty air, for Godric danced nimbly away. Again, Godric had no time to attempt his own attack. Hugh came at him with a flurry of blows and Godric was able to evade them all, saving his energy and content to defend. His eyes were locked on Hugh and he wasn't plagued by a lapse in his concentration. The persistent drills he'd suffered through were proving fruitful. When Hugh sprang forward with another attack, Godric soon discovered he could anticipate the older man's next strike. His mind worked at lightning speed, processing Hugh's stance, the fluidity in which he wielded the staff and supplying him with the means to turn it to his own advantage.

Godric parried once, twice and then stepped aside from a fierce thrust that rushed past his body. He saw an opening, for Hugh had miraculously misjudged his blow, overextending and leaving his side open to attack. Godric, his heart thundering, hacked at Hugh with all the strength he could muster.

Then everything turned black…

When he opened his eyes, Godric was lying where he had fallen. Shaking his head to clear his blurred vision, he found Hugh looming over him.

'You've improved,' the knight conceded. Godric grimaced at a sudden pain, quickly realising that his right hand was swollen and throbbing with agony. Hugh, after spinning aside from Godric's wild attack, had rapped his knuckles with a well-aimed strike which clattered against Godric's sword-hand with enough force to break bones. He'd followed through with a merciless clout to the head, rendering the boy unconscious before he could even acknowledge what was happening. Watching him now, Hugh couldn't hide the disappointment which laced his voice.

'Go to the healers,' Hugh advised him, dismissing him with a turn of his back. Anger boiled up in Godric as he scowled at the retreating figure.

'No,' Godric suddenly spat. Hugh was forced to face him again, finding the foolish boy positioned in a fighting stance.

'Don't be a fool,' Hugh said harshly. Godric ignored him, simply swapping the staff from his broken hand to his left. He didn't utter a word. Hugh remained still for a moment longer, judging the situation. Then he was charging forward, the intent to do damage shining in his eyes. He hacked at Godric, who dodged again. Another attack caused the boy to step hastily back. Then Hugh lunged. It was a killing thrust, a blow which if they had been using swords would have speared the boy on its tip. But only if it landed; for Godric had kept his balance and parried it away with a flick of his wrist. His blow was clumsy, but it had the strength to turn the staff aside.

For the briefest moment, Godric saw surprise flash across Hugh's eyes. It was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by another thrust both faster and more powerful than the last. Again, it was knocked away by Godric, who hastened to raise the staff to protect himself from a third strike.

Yet, Hugh didn't press his attack. Instead, he backed away and stared at Godric oddly,

'How long have you been able to use both hands?'

'Since I was young,' Godric shrugged,

'Why didn't you mention this?'

'I didn't think it was important…'

'Have you been practicing alone?' Hugh inquired. Godric nodded,

'I've sparred with Hamon and Salazar,' the boy admitted, his face turning as red as his hair. He often beseeched the other boys to spar with him in the privacy of their sleeping quarters. Hamon would readily agree. After all, Hugh was his father and he often strained to be worthy of his father's respect. Hamon was a formidable opponent, his older age gifting him an initial advantage over Godric; but it was an advantage which decreased with each passing day. Salazar would usually watch on with disapproval and only after excessive coaxing could he be persuaded to participate. The oldest squire was a tricky and challenging opponent, who if underestimated, could suddenly strike as quickly as any serpent. Sadly, he was not enthusiastic about wielding a sword. He was competent enough, but as a wizard, he saw little benefit in mastering Muggle weaponry.

'Bayard,' Hugh called to his comrade, 'did you know of this?'

'No,' Bayard confessed, having watched the bout from the side-lines, although he wasn't angry. He was grinning broadly through his bushy beard. Hugh grunted and remained deep in thought long after he dismissed Godric from the ring and ordered Salazar and Hamon to replace him.

'Feel better?' asked Isolde a little while later. The witch had approached Godric shortly after she had concluded her own mock-duel with Hadrian. She seemed to have noticed Godric's discomfort at the pain throbbing from his swollen hand and removing her wand from a sleeve, she tapped it once whilst muttering a spell. A warm feeling had shot through Godric and to his surprise, his broken hand had fully healed. Isolde smirked at his expression, dismissing his thanks with a wave of her hand,

'She's the healer of Lord Alain's retinue,' Hadrian informed him, before kindly praising Godric's efforts against Hugh, 'I'd trust her to heal me even if I lay at death's threshold. You did well out there?'

'Not well enough,' Godric responded sulkily, flexing his tingling fingers.

'No one does well against Hugh,' Hadrian chuckled ruefully, 'he battered me into the ground the first time we crossed swords and hurt me even more when I tried to draw a wand against him. For someone so young you did remarkably well.'

'Mm' grumbled Godric, clearly unconvinced.

'I'm telling the truth,' Hadrian insisted, stretching aching muscles, 'few men survive long in a fight against Hugh. It's true that he was holding back against you, but you're only a boy and Hugh's too honourable to dismiss that.'

'Great,' Godric grunted, his frown deepening. He'd assumed that Hugh was holding back, but to have it confirmed diluted what little confidence he had gained in his own abilities over the previous months. Hadrian seemed to realise her mistake and rectified it quickly,

'You've impressed him,' he reassured the boy, 'and Hugh is rarely impressed by anything. Don't be downhearted.' Hadrian clapped his back, smiled and then walked away. Godric sat in silence, brooding quietly as he thought over Hadrian's last remarks. He was so focused on his internal musings that he didn't see Isolde and Hadrian sharing a quiet word with Hugh until he realised that the castellan was towering over him.

'You've probably already heard the tale of how I fought a troll,' Hugh said, bending down to sit beside the sulking boy. Godric nodded carefully. The usually reserved Troll-bane rarely ventured into conversation, let alone mentioned his greatest and most heroic feat. However, Godric had already heard a garbled account of the tale from Bayard and even that unruly brute couldn't hide his admiration for the achievement.

'It was twice the size of a man, with the strength of a dozen bulls and the fury of a berserk,' Hugh stated casually, 'the vile creature should have killed me. It almost did, as I was not left unscathed. This mark here,' he paused to draw his longsword from its scabbard and lay on his lap, pointing at a deep notch in the blade. 'That is a scar made when my sword met the troll's club. No matter how often I sharpen the blade, that notch remains. Smiths, whetstones and even magic cannot get rid of it. Yet, in the end, I stopped trying to remove it, for it reminds me that I walked away from a trial by battle with my life intact whilst my opponent did not.

'If you are to become a knight,' Hugh muttered darkly, 'then listen carefully to what I tell you. Swordplay comes naturally to me and I was blessed by God with a skill for it. But to be ready for that battle with the troll and to come away the victor was only because I trained hard. I was dedicated to training my body to cope with the pressures of being the best a knight can be, and I practiced with a stick until my arms were strong enough to wield a sword with ease and lightning speed. I mastered my weapons and learned how to fight, from how to outsmart an opponent to how to dance with a sword, remaining mobile when others grew weary. All this I will expect from you in the years to come.'

'What do you mean?' asked a dumbfounded Godric,

'Isn't it obvious,' Hugh said gruffly, 'your training will now be in my hands. Bayard has taught you the basics well and you would be a fool to discard the dirty tricks you have learned from him. You have potential, boy, more so than I'd wager you realise. I'd be a dishonourable man if I didn't help you realise it.'

'What does it mean?' Godric inquired, 'being able to use my left hand as well as my right?'

'It means you're ambidextrous,' Hugh told him, 'it's a rare skill which enables you to use both hands equally well. For an aspiring knight, it can be forged into a great weapon. The ability to swap hands can confuse an enemy and will enable you to strike from all directions. In the hands of a Fae-knight, it means that you have potential to be a Dual-wielder!'

'A Dual-wielder?'

'The ability to use both wand and sword simultaneously. It's an exceedingly difficult discipline to master. I can't do it; though it would have been useless for me to try as I have no magic to call my own. However, Lord Alain made me swear to train you to the best of your abilities and I will never betray his trust, let alone break a promise to a man I've sworn to serve. No matter what that rogue Bayard claims, I am the most experienced knight in Avalon. With the promise you have displayed today, then maybe you could hold that title one day!'


	7. Chapter Six: The Wandmaker

**The Wandmaker**

Winter had arrived by the time the strange pilgrim arrived in Avalon. Godric had been sharing a communal evening meal with the rest of Alain's household when the great hall's wooden doors creaked open and a stranger limped in, flanked by Alain and Hugh. The Lord of Avalon had heard the Ferryman's call, which signalled that a stranger ignorant of Avalon's secret wards had requested entry. They had entered the marshes immediately, only returning once they had led the stranger through the mists to Avalon's snowy summit.

The stranger bore a thick travelling cloak clasped to his shoulder by a golden brooch depicting an olive branch. Long silver hair hung in a braid down his back and pale eyes darted about the hall, bringing light to the contented smile which flickered at his lips. Beaming brightly, Morwenna leaped to her feet at the stranger's arrival. All conversation was silenced as the Lady of Avalon descended from the high table to meet the newcomer to her hall.

'Thibault,' she welcomed him with an embrace, 'it warms my heart to see you again!'

'Lady Morwenna,' the man replied, smiling back, 'it is always the most resplendent of pleasures to be in your company.'

'You have a courtier's tongue,' Morwenna laughed with a faint blush, 'I am glad you have answered my husband's call. Come and break bread with us, you must be tired and half-starved from your travels.' Lambert, Alain's fastidious steward, was already by their side to take Thibault's cloak. Politely thanking the steward, Thibault followed Morwenna to the high table, where he was honoured with a seat beside the Lord and Lady of Avalon. The responsibility of serving him fell to Alain's three squires, who performed their duties with well-practiced ease whilst the stranger talked to Alain and Morwenna in hushed tones and was treated like an honoured guest.

'I hoped my message had reached you,' admitted Alain as Thibault began to wolf down his meal, 'it's late in the year and I know that your family prefers to conduct its travels to warmer climates during the winter.'

'The Ollivander's have always preferred warmer climates,' Thibault replied with a smile, 'we only reached these cold shores when my ancestors fought beside legions of Rome. Fortunately, I received the message during an unfortunate meeting with a veela near Constantinople. I was investigating some intriguing rumours I'd heard about how the hair of a veela could be used as a wand core.'

'You were lucky to escape,' chastised Morwenna sternly, 'veela have a formidable reputation.'

'Alas, I admit to being woefully unprepared for the meeting. But I still escaped with my life, albeit with singed skin and a bruised ego. However, I did manage to prove the rumours right, although their wands certainly have a temperamental nature. After that, I was more than happy to cut my travels short. It's not often that the Lord of Avalon seeks your aid.'

'Indeed,' Alain smiled, watching Thibault shove bread drenched with broth into his mouth, 'I have recently acquired a young squire, a boy who shares my blood and is in dire need of his own wand. I would have provided one for him, but my steward Lambert informs me that Avalon's stores are empty of spares.'

'A good thing,' scoffed Thibault, 'a wand is next to useless unless it has a real bond with the wizard who uses it. I've told you before, Lord, that it is the wand…'

'Which chooses the wizard,' conceded Alain, 'I remember.'

'It was the young Slytherin boy wasn't it,' continued Thibault, glancing at the youth in question, who was listening attentively to their conversation, 'Yew and Hydra vein, a very peculiar and rare combination, especially for a wizard's first wand. I wonder if your latest apprentice will be as unique.'

Later that evening, Alain, Godric, Salazar and Thibault adjourned to the privacy of Yusuf's tower. The latter cackled at the thought of wayward magic, a common phenomenon during a wizard's first wand acquisition, flying around in what he described as that vagabond Moor's haven of historical nonsense.

'I apologise that my arrival was delayed,' Thibault ranted as they strode past the stone Kelpie, 'but I had to stop at my homestead on the way here and select a few choice wands for this. Which was an absolute nightmare. Rivals are popping up everywhere, sensing that they can make some gold off those patrons who have made us rich. The bloody road they've trudged up through our fields isn't even straight. We'll have goblins living there next!'

'No apology required, old friend,' Alain replied genially. Thibault smiled his thanks, before conjuring a ragged-looking bundle to appear on one of Yusuf's long benches, accidently toppling over a carefully sorted pile of ancient manuscripts and scrolls, much to the wandmaker's amusement. Flourishing his wand again, the bundle rolled open to reveal a hoard of unblemished wands. Beckoning Godric over with a wave, he ushered the boy forwards until Godric stood beside him. He gave the boy a long, curious look,

'So, you're the Flamebearer's nephew? It is surprising that I have heard nothing of your existence. The fact that the Lord of Avalon had taken a new apprentice, especially one related by blood, would usually be on the lips of most of the magical community…'

'I saw fit to keep his existence a secret, as I did for Salazar at his age!' explained Alain, 'to keep him out of harm's way'

'From your enemies or his?'

'Both,' replied Alain carefully.

'Curious,' Thibault thought aloud, 'to have enemies so young. Tell me, boy, do you know of me?'

'You are Master Thibault Ollivander,' Godric replied uncertainly,

'Correct,' the newcomer confirmed, 'and the purpose of my visit?'

'To help me choose a wand. You're a wandmaker.'

Thibault nodded, stroking his clean-shaven chin,

'For over a thousand years, the Ollivanders have been counted amongst the greatest wandmakers in the magical world. My ancestors crafted the wands which overthrew the scourge of Carthage and helped Rome build its empire. For centuries, we have brought light, no matter how dimly it burns, to a dark world, travelling abroad and questing into the wilds in our search for powerful and obscure wand cores. My name is Thibault Ollivander, the latest of that line. I have fought alongside the Order of Merlin, feasted with the Adites of the Sandy Plains and have befriended some of the most fearsome and spectacular creatures known to wizards,' Thibault turned his unblinking gaze on Godric, 'now, tell me about yourself?'

Godric felt unnerved by the sudden shift in focus. He glanced at Alain, who urged him to respond with a reassuring smile.

'I am Godric,' he finally stuttered, 'once of Black-Hollow, but now a squire in Lord Alain's household. I am noble-born to a Saxon father and a Norman mother…'

'You are descended from Saxon blood?' inquired Thibault pondered curiously, 'that is interesting, there are few Saxon families left who practice the magical arts. Your uncle and others like him saw to that.'

He sent Alain a disapproving look, who looked unmoved by the sudden barb.

'He is the son of my half-sister,' Alain replied firmly, 'it is likely that the blood we share is the source of his magic.'

'Magic is still a mystery to us, Lord. It can lay dormant for centuries within a bloodline, only to suddenly sprout in the most unlikely of places,' Thibault suddenly clapped his hands together, 'alas, that is a conversation for another time. Excellent, so you have both Saxon and Norman blood. A potent brew, boy, which should make for a very intriguing choice of wand.'

The wandmaker gestured at the assembled wands before grabbing hold of Godric's hand and pulling it forwards until it hovered over them.

'Hold your hand out,' Thibault instructed briskly, 'stop being so cautious boy, you're not a virgin in a brothel! It's only a wand. That's right, now, trace your hand over the wands. Like this…' Godric followed every outlandish command that Thibault gave him, his outstretched hand hovering over each of the offered wands. Nothing happened.

'What am I supposed to be looking for?' Godric eventually asked impatiently, his bemusement giving way to frustration. Thibault turned to look at him, his brow creasing in a frown.

'You are looking for a bond,' the wandmaker advised, 'by tracing your hand over the wands, you are attempting to sense a fellowship, as if the wand you touch is not merely an instrument, but an extension of yourself.'

Godric nodded, focusing on finding the best match. However, as night descended, it was impossible for Godric not to feel disheartened. His hand went from wand to wand, yet only a meagre few spoke out to him and that was only a brief flutter. Bundle after bundle was tested, but it was all for nothing. Both Alain and Salazar offered their advice, but the results remained the same.

'Are you sure he's magical?' Thibault finally asked Alain in a hushed voice. Salazar was currently standing at Godric's side, trying to ease his friend's growing frustrations. The wandmaker found it all thoroughly intriguing and began to wonder if he had ever witnessed such a prolonged wand choosing.

'Godric's had a difficult upbringing,' explained Alain, 'he just needs time to build his confidence. Salazar once saw him force Robert of Bellême away with nothing more than wandless magic…'

' _The_ Bellême?' spluttered Thibault incredulously,

'The very same.'

'Then I must be wrong,' mused the wandmaker, 'you have two apprentices of great potential, Lord.'

'I believe so,' Alain agreed proudly, watching his squires closely.

'Speaking of Bellême,' Thibault whispered, 'there have been whispers of rebellion.'

'Rumours of rebellion often concern Bellême. You can tell you're a merchant, old friend, with such an ear for gossip. Have no fear, both the King and I am aware of it.'

'Then you know that the rebellion will fail. This new King is too strong to be forced to his knees by a foolish brother and a few discontented barons. Any fool knows this and Bellême, despite his many faults, is no fool.'

Alain stared at Thibault for a long moment,

'What are you implying?'

'A merchant see's more than most, Lord. Bellême knows this rebellion will fail, but its effect on our world may be subtler than we anticipate. Britain is divided, despite the fragile peace your wand once won. I fear that a spider lurks in the dark, ready to topple Britain into chaos with one pluck of a thread. I will remain neutral of course, for war does terrible things to a merchant's business.'

'A spider?' Alain breathed softly, his face half hidden in the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight.

'You know who it is I speak of?'

'I do,' Alain growled, 'but surely she cannot return to Britain? The She-Wolf was exiled long ago, her hands stained with the blood of innocents.'

'Yet, she will,' Thibault replied warningly, 'the She-Wolf will sense that Britain is fractured and the Wizengamot weakened, lacking the power to stop her return.'

'If I can hinder it then I will,' Alain replied,

'But others won't,' Thibault sighed, 'although she may not be influenced by power at all. I've heard a rumour that she's searching for something; an ancient treasure which was once housed in Avalon. It's a relic they call the Cauldron of Rebirth…'

'I have heard of it,' Alain frowned, 'I thought it was merely an invention of clever poets? If it was once stored in Avalon, then it is here no longer.'

'It could be anywhere,' Thibault agreed, 'Rome looted many of the riches once idealised by druidic shamans. I even met a eunuch in Constantinople who spoke of a war being fought between goblins and dragons over a hoard of ancient treasures. This Cauldron could be lost amongst them. However, the She-Wolf thinks its here and she is a dangerous woman to cross paths with.'

'I'll heed your warning,' Alain said, 'and I will speak of it to Morwenna. She has lived in Avalon longer than any of us. Perhaps she knows something of this Cauldron.'

'Seek counsel from the Fae-Whisperers,' Thibault advised, 'they're said to have the Sight and still revere ancient relics.'

'I could send a message to Nolwen,' Alain replied, glancing at the wandmaker, 'I gather Nolwen is still holding a grudge against you for that incident with one of her maidens?'

The wandmaker looked rather abashed at this,

'That ridiculous woman can hold a grudge for longer than any goblin when her maidens have been touched. Alas, we mere mortals are not as fortunate as you.'

'I am truly blessed,' Alain chuckled knowingly,

'You're a lucky bastard to have the love of the Lady of Avalon,' the wandmaker smirked wryly, 'can you work the same enchantments for me?'

'Not even a thousand enchantments would work, you lecherous fiend. Besides, no charm was used. It was an unlooked-for blessing which I was fortunate enough to stumble upon.'

'Pah,' Thibault scoffed, 'when I stumble it ends with curses and threats to castrate me, not the love of a beautiful woman.'

'You're an outrageous man,' Alain smirked, before his expression turned grim, 'so you think that she will return?'

'Almost certainly,' the wandmaker sighed, 'Gofanon the Wise is old and his influence wains. You, Lord, are the Council's youngest member, despite being well past forty years. Honestly, I fear for Britain. The sun is setting on the old ways, our ways. A new era approaches; one which will need new blood to lead it.'

A frowning Thibault did not turn his gaze away from where the pair of young wizards squabbled over the wands and remained ignorant of the concerns being voiced by their elders. Suddenly, Alain grabbed the wandmaker's arm in an iron grip and looked at the man sharply.

'Your counsel is always welcome, old friend,' Alain said, 'but I would appreciate it if you do not mention my past again, especially in the presence of my squires.'

'Why not?' Thibault shot back, 'surely it is better that they hear the truth from you, Lord?'

'They are still young,' Alain replied peevishly, 'and the Harrying was a dark time. Too dark for children to understand…'

'They were dark days,' the wandmaker conceded, 'but are you so sure that it is not shame for your past deeds which motivates you?'

'Careful, Thibault,' Alain suddenly growled warningly, his eyes flashing angrily, 'even our long friendship will not stop me from finding wands from other sources. Yusuf tells me that the Adites are the greatest wandmakers in the world. Perhaps my gold would be better spent elsewhere?'

'They are impressive,' Thibault admitted grudgingly, 'but, your Moor exaggerates. However, you'd have to find one first. They're a notoriously difficult people to find and I was only lucky enough to blunder into one of their marauding caravans. No man from Christendom has found their lost city for over a generation.'

'Avalon is an alluring and sacred place,' Alain replied, 'and many wizards dream of coming here. I'm sure even the Adites would want to probe Avalon's secrets.'

'There speaks a man who has never befriended an Adite,' Thibault smiled smugly, unfazed by Alain's threat, 'they rarely venture far from their deserts. Besides, you cannot leave this island. I fear that if the Lord of Avalon sails away from Britain, then the precious peace we've enjoyed since the Harrying will crumble and we will have war again. For now, Lord, I'm afraid you're stuck with my wands.'

'Well met,' Alain finally smiled ruefully,

'Just be on your guard,' Thibault smirked, 'you'll need more wands in your stores, all fit to be used by your retainers. I can provide the remedy, for enough gold that is.'

When Thibault returned to the bench he cast a promising eye over the pile of wands the two boys had chosen. Salazar informed him that these were the only wands Godric appeared to have an affinity with, although the latter added that each connection had seemed weak. Listening patiently, the wandmaker insisted that Godric repeat the action to confirm it. Godric did as he was instructed, carefully lifting one wand made from ash. He flicked it, in a style reminiscent of the way he had seen Salazar and Alain do so. Nothing happened.

They moved on, testing each wand. No result proved promising. By the time they reached the last wand, Godric couldn't hide his anger. With a frustrated flourish, he waved the wand angrily. Sparks shot out wildly, crackling about the room. A tower of ancient scrolls nearby, piled high with delicate care by Avalon's Moorish scholar, suddenly burst into flame. Godric panted heavily, shocked by the wand's wild response as Alain rushed to douse the smouldering parchment with water before hastily attempting to fix the damage before Yusuf discovered the vandalism of his precious artefacts. Thibault cackled madly, delighted with this turn of events.

'Fascinating,' the wandmaker gushed, before murmuring beneath his breath, 'oak I believe, but the wrong core. It lacked the control needed for an apprentice and the bond to fuel your endeavours.'

'It's no use,' Godric muttered, his spirits thoroughly dampened.

'Stop feeling sorry for yourself boy,' snapped Thibault, 'we have the right wood and that's half the battle. Oak is a symbol of strength and power, utilised by wizards for thousands of years. Indeed, legend says that Merlin's staff was fashioned from a great oak tree. It is stout enough to contain your magic. All we need is the perfect core and nothing less. You have a great recess of power boy, I can sense it, but you lack the means to control it. You need a wand to do this, but without the appropriate wand-core then this will prove impossible.'

'Then how do we decide on a core?' asked Salazar, his quick mind struggling to find an answer.

'By completing the Ritual,' Thibault said softly. He darted towards his last remaining bundle, which opened to reveal an assortment of bizarre ingredients. Without another word, the wandmaker began to brew a potion, muttering spells with each addition until the small pot hissed viciously. Godric watched on in bemusement. However, one glance told him that Alain and Salazar were no strangers to it.

'The Ritual?' whispered Salazar, unable to hide his envy.

'He is too young!' said Alain, pacing towards his old friend. Thibault rose to his feet, blowing at the wisps of steam rising from the pot. The stench which assaulted all their nostrils made them all grimace with disgust.

'Hot, hot,' he spluttered hastily, placing the bubbling pot on the bench, the frothing potion spitting across the ink-stained wooden surface. He continued, blowing his cold breath onto his stinging fingers, 'bloody stuff! I prepared this before coming here, but it seems trudging through the freezing snow to reach these accursed marshes has frozen it. Fortunately, a few additional spells and it's practically fresh.'

'He is too young.' Alain reiterated, more firmly this time. He sounded anxious, 'the Ritual is a sacred tradition, performed by wizards when they come of age and only when they have learnt to control their magic. I fear the consequences if Godric was to perform it now, it may break him.'

'Do you know of another way?' Thibault asked, sternly.

'What is this Ritual?' Godric asked quietly, but his question went ignored,

'There has to be,' Alain said, looking conflicted, 'I was seventeen summers old when I completed the Ritual. Salazar didn't require the Ritual for his first wand, why should Godric?'

'You were still young, my friend. Many thought Taillefer mad to allow you to perform the Ritual so early, but he understood that it was a risk worth taking. The conquest was near at hand and he knew you would need all your skills if you were to survive the trials to come. Young Salazar also has great potential, but he has a control which Godric lacks. That boy's power is like a mountain spring after a storm. It will continue to leak from him if he does not learn to control it. The boy already has enemies; how does he protect himself from them? What happens when he potentially endangers those he loves by letting his powers rage wandless and wild? You've heard tales of such youngsters before and I can confirm that the worse of them are true.'

Alain remained the silent, unable to argue with the wandmaker or deny what the man was telling him.

'I will do it!' Godric called out into the silence. His companions turned to look at him. The night's frustrations still simmered on Godric's face, but it was now tempered with defiance and an unflinching desire to succeed. Alain's eyes bore into his nephew's and he found that he could do nothing but commend Godric's courage. Eventually, he simply nodded, giving his consent.

'Lord?',' Salazar objected, internally wrestling with his fear for Godric's safety and the jealousy clawing inside him.

'Salazar,' said Alain wearily, 'trust me, there is no other way…'

'This isn't fair!'

'Enough, Salazar!' snapped Alain heatedly, the harshness of his tone startling everyone, 'you forget yourself. It has to be done, although I dread Morwenna's reaction when she discovers this.' Thibault ignored the discussion between master and apprentice. Instead, he beckoned Godric forwards, ushering him towards the bubbling potion.

'This Ritual,' he told the boy, 'is an ancient ceremony. Traditionally, it is performed when a wizard comes of age and their master dubs them worthy of carrying the wand which will serve them for the rest of their lives.'

Thibault picked up the swiftly cooling potion and presented it to Godric, who took it with slightly shaking hands.

'By drinking this potion, you will slip into the realm of dreams. There you will be shown a vision; a vision which should tell us what the nature of your wand core will be. Take care, boy, and try to remember that we are here for you. This potion is dangerous, as the dreams can summon such fearful incantations that those too young for the challenge have sometimes died or been driven mad because of it. Remember, it is only a dream.'

Godric nodded, grimacing as he looked down into the bubbling concoction. Taking a deep breath, he raised it to his lips and drank it in one go. He almost gagged at the taste, but Thibault urged him to finish the vile contents and the boy didn't stop until the pot was empty.

'Now, dream,' came the wandmaker's gentle voice as Godric's vision suddenly blurred and his world spun, disappearing in a whirlwind of colour and sound. The pot fell from Godric's hands and the boy stumbled on his feet. Strong arms were there to catch him and lower him to the ground as Godric slipped away into a drug-fuelled stupor.

Godric suddenly felt the strangest of sensations. He felt powerful, a power which spread through him from beak to talon and claws. The sunlight which shone over him was warm on his fur and the feeling of wind fluttering through his feathers was a cooling relief as his great wings beat in steady repetition.

He suddenly realised he was flying. Far above the greenery of a great expanse of land, where twinkling rivers meandered through rolling hills and forests sang in the breeze as mountains towered over it all. Small clusters of settlements were dotted between ploughed fields. From Godric's high vantage point, he could hear the voices of the inhabitants on the wind. Joy and happiness radiated from the land and all was bright and wonderful. Godric looked down. He realised that he was following a long road far below, which cut through the lovely landscape to disappear into the distant horizon.

Then the sky darkened, and the sun was eclipsed by a great shadow. Through disbelieving eyes, Godric saw the land being drowned in a sea of blood and felt pure terror fill him at the sight of the road, once covered in pale stone and now paved with rotting corpses. The wind swiftly turned into a tempest around him. From the howl of the wind, he could make out the mocking laughter of the mysterious killer who haunted his dreams. His body, once powerful and strong, felt suddenly weak and heavy as if the raging storm was caging him. Godric struggled on, falling faster and faster as the bloodied earth rose to meet him. On the distant horizon, he could make out a light, which was dazzling in its purity. It drew him on, giving him the determination to struggle against the dark claws which reached out of the shadows to pull him back. He floundered, fighting and crying with the effort as the laughter thundered louder and louder, the blood rising higher until it was so close he could feel the burn of its touch scolding his talons…

Godric screamed, a high-pitched wail being forced from his lungs as his eyes shot open.

Then it was all gone. He was awake, his eyes wide and his body quivering as his vision cleared and he saw his three companions gathered about him, all watching on with varying degrees of concern.

'Godric, are you okay?' Salazar asked hurriedly, all traces of his previous jealousy replaced by concern for his young friend, 'what happened?'

Godric shook his head, both to clear his mind and rid himself of the nightmarish dream he had just experienced. He suddenly felt terribly nauseous. Thibault seemed to have been waiting for his reaction,

'No,' he ordered sternly, 'however unwilling, you must recount the dream to us!'

It took a long time to calm Godric. Then slowly, he began to tell them his tale; how he had been flying over a bright land, only for all to turn to darkness until it ran with blood. He described the strange sensation of having powerful wings, beak and claws, although he didn't mention the menacing laughter which haunted him. Thibault's eyes seemed to shine with curiosity at his tale.

'Wings, beak and claw?' he repeated inquisitively, 'fascinating!'

'You know of this beast?' asked Alain, his hand clasped tightly around his nephew's shoulder. His face looked drawn and pale.

'I believe I do,' replied Thibault absentmindedly, 'and more importantly, I believe I have the perfect core at my disposal, one I went to great lengths and expense to precure. It was given to me as a gift of fellowship and I have treasured it ever since, waiting for the perfect time to craft it into something remarkable. However, it will take me a few days to craft it into a wand. As for the rest of the boy's vision, I have no clues. I am not a seer, nor did I ever possess a talent for determining the meanings behind such things, especially dreams of such a harrowing nature. Lord Alain, a word in private…'

As Thibault led a wary Alain into the shadows, Salazar informed Godric that he had collapsed when the drug took effect, although Alain had the sense to catch him. At first, nothing had happened. Then he had started to groan loudly, his body began to twitch and then shudder as if caught in a fit. So violent were his unconscious throes that his companions had deemed it necessary to hold him still to stop Godric from dashing his wits all over the wooden floorboards. Aside from this, all they could do was helplessly watch Godric's growing distress.

'What do you think your dream meant?' Salazar finally asked, unable to help himself. Godric could only shake his head.

'I don't know,' he replied honestly, the echo of that chilling laugh resounding in his head, 'I don't know…'

Thibault remained in Avalon for a full week. He worked tirelessly, cooped up in Avalon's vast library. He only left this conclave for the communal meals, where he would delight Alain's household with vivid stories about his travels and the people he had met. Then he would retire to his work, refusing to give any clues about his work. The only man in Avalon who appeared to take umbrage with Thibault's presence was Yusuf. The men had much in common, having both travelled far and wide in their never-ending quest to quench a thirst for knowledge. However, the Iberian Moor resented having to share his domain with a man who had a habit of delightfully setting alight his hoard of precious scrolls and the sound of their persistent bickering could be heard throughout Avalon.

Godric barely saw anything of the strange man. Instead, his lessons and duties consumed him. He had flatly refused a concerned Morwenna's offer to take a few days to rest. The Lady of Avalon had been furious with her husband for allowing Godric to participate in the ritual. It had taken the boy a full day to recover from the nauseous effects of the ritual's potion and even longer to stop dwelling on the content of his drug-induced nightmare. Morwenna had insisted on hearing it, but although she had some knowledge of divination, she also couldn't reveal its nature. This blatantly troubled her, though she hid her concern well.

Yet, Godric's spirits were soon lifted on the day he finally received his first wand. He was sat hunched over a bench, listening to Belin's lecture on the magic of Nordic runes and trying to ignore the aching of his bruised and battered body. Earlier that day, Godric had been forced to suffer a vigorous and gruelling lesson into why it was always important to concentrate when sparring with a superior opponent. This had been forced on him when Hugh had given into his frustrations with Godric's continual lapse in concentration and had beaten him into the ground for the umpteenth time.

Suddenly, the door to Belin's scriptoria burst open, startling Godric and causing him to knock his ink over the parchment he had been scribbling on.

'I've got it,' Thibault yelled in jubilation as he skipped into the small room. Godric was too stunned to reply, but his gaze immediately focused on the carved stick which the wandmaker was brandishing in his hand.

'How can we help you, Thibault?' asked Belin warmly, unfazed by Thibault's spontaneous actions by now. He merely hastened to save what work Godric had produced, delicately taking the unblemished parchments off Godric's ink-stained bench before they were ruined.

'My apologies, Belin, but I come as the bearer of gifts,' he strode over to Godric and held out the wand, 'take it and see.'

Godric looked from the grinning Thibault to the wand in his hands. Nervously, Godric took the wand off Thibault and held it before him. He marvelled at the immediate difference. Unlike the hoard of wands he had tried the night of Thibault's arrival at Avalon, Godric sensed a bond instantly. Warmth weaved through him, filling him with an awareness of the instrument that he held in his fingers. It seemed crafted purely for his use and his magic rejoiced as the bond between wand and castor was finally cemented. The tip of the wand glowed bright, illuminating the wonder shining on Godric's face.

'What do you think?' pressed Thibault, smiling with the pride of a craftsman aware that he had produced a masterpiece.

'It's brilliant,' whispered Godric, barely able to breathe for the exhilaration he felt.

'This wand has taken me longer to perfect than any other I have made,' explained Thibault eagerly, 'it may even be my most unique. The wand in your hand is a true extension of your soul. Like your bloodline, it combines the indomitable strength of the old oak, but with a core of noble griffon heart-string. The griffon is the beast you dreamed of. Half eagle and half lion, there are few left. However, never has a nobler creature blessed our world. Take care of this wand, Master Godric, for if the nature of your dream tells me anything, it is that you'll face many trials before your time in this world is over. Alain claims you were born to do great things, may this wand aid you in accomplishing them.'


	8. Chapter Seven: The Ghosts of Avalon

**The Ghosts of Avalon**

Summer, 1088

Nowhere in Britain was a more glorious place than Avalon when it shone in the splendour of the summer months. The winter snows had long since melted, replaced with temperate spring. But it was with the coming of the summer's golden warmth which brought with it ample opportunity to explore the Isle of Apples and all its secrets; a task Godric's inquisitive nature revelled in.

Godric knew Avalon had an ancient, established history. From the foundations of the castle's keep to the rocks, pools and tall trees which were scattered across its rocky crag, the island seemed to radiate its magical heritage. Godric knew by heart the locations of all twelve statues of Arthur's warriors and would often complete his duties or practice his spells in their shadow. He liked to imagine that he was a part of their prestigious brotherhood and that after his lifetime, he would leave such a heroic legacy that it deserved to be remembered in stone. The marks left by these legendary figures littered Avalon's hill. One memorable excursion beyond the castle had led to Godric discovering many tombs of long dead heroes, including the final resting place of the Arawn, the very first Lord of Avalon. The graves were so old that the symbols engraved on their stone memorials were faded with age and undecipherable in any language Godric was fluent in.

There were also traces of other magical traditions. Godric had learnt that the Cauldron of Rebirth had once been housed here, a magical object which had many names in many tongues and had once nestled in the confines of a small glade's pool which sourced its water from a small waterfall which trickled gently over glittering rocks. Nine stone maidens stood surrounding a moss-cloaked stone which sprouted from the pool like a small island. All nine wore mournful expressions, arms reaching out to grasp hold of a treasure which no longer rested in their outstretched hands. The Cauldron of Rebirth had disappeared long ago, vanishing into the mists of time.

Old magic was woven into the very fabric of Avalon and its outlying lands. The inhabitants of Avalon and its surrounding villages, both Muggle and magical, had accepted the otherworldliness of the island for centuries. The nearby marsh-folk and townspeople supplied Avalon with locally sourced food and supplies, whilst Alain made sure that the taxes raised were fair and that the scattered communities within his fiefdom prospered. Alain's very household was a kaleidoscopic mix, which transcended the barriers between race and culture to find a harmony in co-existence.

Yet, the sacredness of Avalon as a magical place went well beyond the boundaries of human magic and tradition. Avalon's land and marshes were a haven of spirituality for all magical creatures. Godric had spotted various indigenous sprites inhabiting the Isle of Apples. Naiads, pixies, fairies and many other beings existed amongst the apple trees and deep pools. Although they were often sweet and benign sprites, Godric made sure to keep his distance and not encroach on their territory. He had been warned about evil-doers who lurked deep in the mists of Avalon's marshes, creatures who lured unwitting travellers into the murky depths of their dens to feast on fresh flesh. Despite this, it wasn't just Alain's tall stronghold which stood resplendent on its crag, but the whole island that could truly be considered a magical paradise.

Many mysteries were embedded in Avalon, but none stood out more than Lady Morwenna. She was a myriad of contradictions. At times she was the serene matron, others the doting motherly figure to her husband's squires. However, beneath her graceful exterior was housed a will of steel. She may have been slow to anger, but once roused, many claimed that they would rather face the fiery breath of a raging dragon. Godric had only seen two people facedown Morwenna's anger. There was Hugh, who would stare back unflinchingly as her temper washed over him like sea waves over unmoving, weathered rock. The other was Ella, who was Morwenna's equal in all things but social status and would respond to the Lady of Avalon's displeasure with scathing disdain. Whereas Alain would crumble at the slightest hint of being the target of Morwenna's temper, these two alone could weather it.

When Godric had been wandering aimlessly through Avalon's apple trees on one of his many aimless sorties from the keep, he had spotted a torch illuminating the gloom amidst the trees. A closer look revealed Morwenna and Aelflaed, emerging from the dark like spectral figures. Morwenna was barefoot, silently stepping through the grass and dressed in nothing but a pale shift. As she passed Godric's hiding place amidst the trees, the trickling water of nearby streams seemed to hum, purring at their proximity to the Lady of Avalon.

Godric didn't dare move. He feared that the slightest movement may alert the two women that they were being watched. He saw them head towards one of Avalon's many magical pools, hidden from his eyes behind a curtain of hanging ivy and blooming flowers. As Morwenna reached it she began to sing and at the sound of her enchanting voice the ivy curtains crept open, allowing her to enter. She disappeared behind the veil, her handmaiden following closely at her heels. The torchlight was quickly extinguished as the ivy closed, casting Godric back into the shadowy gloom. He had returned to the castle quickly, mystified by what he had seen. From that night on, Godric knew that Avalon held many secrets and he now counted Lady Morwenna highest amongst them.

'Mryddin Emry's,' said Morwenna during one of their lessons, 'or Merlin as he has become commonly known, was arguably the most influential wizard to inhabit these shores since human magic first reached Britain.'

The Lady of Avalon was perched on her favourite stone bench in the same glade she often insisted on teaching Godric in. The boy listened intently to her every word. They had covered the histories and traditions of many cultures, but although Merlin had been mentioned before, this was the first time Morwenna had discussed the famous wizard in any detail.

'He was a very powerful man, born into a dark time of great change. The legions were leaving these shores and their empire was crumbling around them. The Briton's who remained were left to seek their own fortunes and defend their homes from the wolves prowling at their borders. The Saxons came from the east, braving the seas to bring war upon the people of Britain, their warlocks and shamans using warlike spells and rituals to defeat the wizards whose magic had grown weak under the yoke of Rome. With the Saxons sounding the drums of war in the east, Irish pirates raiding from the west and the fierce, tattooed Picts to the north breaching the Roman Wall, Merlin's people were beset on all sides by enemies. They became a divided rabble of petty warring kingdoms, more inclined to fight amongst themselves than unite to survive this onslaught.

'Merlin's coming gave them hope. He sparked a resurgence in the old traditions of magic long thought lost and extinct. He was the most powerful wizard of his time and no Saxon shaman or Irish warlock could defeat him. When he was still a young man, he overcame the trials and challenges needed to become the Lord of Avalon…'

'Trials?' Godric asked curiously,

'Ancient tests of magical skill,' Morwenna informed him, 'each wizard who wishes to become the Lord of Avalon must partake and defeat the trials before they can be acclaimed Lord of the Isle of Apples.'

'So, my uncle succeeded?'

'With much daring and great skill, although he had faithful Hugh by his side to aid him on his quest. In truth, Alain resembled a young god when he first arrived here…' Morwenna smiled, her mind lost in her memories as she remembered those bygone days. Godric found himself returning Morwenna's smile, as it had been too absent of late.

The recent summer months had brought a change in Morwenna's demeanour. With the arrival of spring came war. Discontented barons, led by the King's uncle, who had threatened rebellion since the dawn of Rufus's reign suddenly burst from their strongholds to bring swords, fire and death upon the lands of the King and his allies. Knights ran amok, causing chaos across the kingdom. Rumours claimed that wizards were amongst the rebel ranks, spreading fear everywhere they went. An urgent message arrived in Avalon from the King, beseeching Alain to make haste and join him. Alain had answered quickly and was gone by the next day, taking his retinue with him. Godric had gaped at the fierceness of the company, who had been fully adorned for war as they assembled in Avalon's bailey. He had joined his voice to Salazar and Hamon's demands to be allowed to go to war, but the Lord of Avalon had denied them the chance. War was no place for boy's their age and his own magic would fulfil the duties of a squire for a time. They had ridden out that morning, and the three boys had watched them disappear into the marsh mists from the tall gatehouse, feeling downhearted.

Morwenna visibly loathed parting from her husband, especially when he marched to war. She had wept bitter tears throughout his last night and her voice could be heard echoing through the keep's halls as she begged him to reconsider. It had no effect, as Alain gently reminded her that he had sworn an oath of loyalty to the King and so was honour bound to ride to his aid if ever called do so. Since the morning of Alain's departure and the onset of summer, Morwenna had been sad and subdued as fear gnawed at her heart. Godric's lessons with her continued, but now beset with worry for her husband's life, she lacked her natural spark and relish for the subject's she taught him. Morwenna was like a mother to him and was slowly healing the painful wounds his mother's death had left. It pleased his heart to see her bright and gentle smile return.

'Look how we digress when dwelling on our pasts,' Morwenna said eventually, shaking herself from her fleeting memories, 'we must return to our talk of Merlin. Once he became Lord of Avalon, he allied his magic with the power of many warlords and sought to heal the fractures which plagued magical Britain. The land flourished under his influence and he left a great legacy. At the height of his powers and using the arts of prophecy, he detected a great evil rising across the sea, an evil whose identity has been lost to us. Much blood was spilt in the war that followed, but after many years, Merlin proved victorious and he threw down his enemy in an epic duel. Following this, he founded the prestigious Order of Merlin to safeguard his victory.'

'What's the Order of Merlin?' asked Godric, unfamiliar with the name.

'A military order established to protect the magical communities of Europe from the threat of evil wizards and their dark practices.' Morwenna glanced at Godric, whose eyes were round with youthful wonder. She chuckled at his reaction, deciding to nip his burning intentions in the bud, 'as I've mentioned, it is a very prestigious group. To this day, they only honour the most talented wizards and witches by welcoming them into their ranks.'

Godric shrugged, understanding what she was trying to tell him. One day, he may be eligible to join their ranks, but he was many years away from that accomplishment and there were more important matters that demanded his focus.

'After the war, Merlin sought to pass on his extensive knowledge to the next generation. He had six great pupils. There was Taliesin the Radiant-Brow; the Caledonian wizard Lailoken; the half-sister of Merlin's old friend Arthur, Morgana the Fae and his two most beloved children, his son Gleis and his daughter Inogen. Together, they made the magic of the Britons great again. Today, many of the leading and purest magical families claim descent from these mage's, although it is believed that no legitimate bloodline of Merlin's exists these days.'

'Who was the sixth pupil?' inquired Godric.

A witch called Nimue the Last. She was younger than her peers and more susceptible to the dark arts. By the time she reached Avalon, Merlin was old and had retired from the public eye. His dear friend Arthur had met his end in battle and his remaining pupils had left to seek their own fortunes. Morgana had even become his enemy. Now old and frail, he failed to see the thirst for power and ambition Nimue harboured in her heart. She became his last pupil and eventually he took her to his bed as a lover, an old man seeking the comfort of a young woman's body. In Avalon's stronghold, he taught her all his secrets.

'Eventually, Nimue persuaded him to reveal to her the secret caves. Great caverns of crystal caves hewn from the rocks by Merlin himself. There, Merlin could conjure his enchantments in peace and hoard the secrets of his long-lasting magic. It was a long-held secret, for Merlin even refused to share it with his other pupils. But Nimue's tongue was sweet and her mind cunning. She persuaded Merlin to reveal the caves to her and there, she lured him to his doom.

'Her usurpation was cruel and completely bloodless. She coaxed Merlin into casting a spell and then entwined it with her own dark enchantments. The twisted spell froze his heart and encased him in a crystal tomb beneath Avalon. Nimue took control of Avalon and ruled it for two years. When the news reached Merlin's former pupils, they forged an alliance and ousted Nimue from Avalon. Deposed from her seat of power, she was exiled and forced to live in an impoverished hovel beside a lake. Her power weakened, and she feared her peer's retribution. Legend says she gave birth to an illegitimate child of Merlin's, but it was only a rumour and I have heard of only one witch who still lives to claim descent from this bloodline. In the hundreds of years that have passed, Merlin's tomb has never been found.

'This is just one of the many examples of how evil and bloodshed has blighted Avalon,' Morwenna admitted forlornly and Godric could tell that her mind dwelled on what fate awaited the man she loved. She turned her attention back to her pupil, 'I have heard much about your explorations of Avalon, Godric, but I beseech you, do not go looking for Merlin's tomb. Only trouble lies in that pursuit.'

'I've found it!'

Salazar and Hamon paused, halting in their work polishing Avalon's vast armoury. They stared in confusion at the younger squire whose excited exclamation had interrupted them.

'You've found what?' Salazar inquired,

'Another way to prank old Lambert?' asked Hamon, his eyes instantly lighting up. Avalon's steward was a sensible, albeit fastidious man who had little time for Alain's three unruly and ill-disciplined squires. He considered them to be a nuisance at best and a hindrance at the worst and didn't hesitate to belittle their work at the slightest aggravation. The boys responded in kind, playing pranks on the steward at every given opportunity. They particularly enjoyed their habit of misplacing the items and tools they knew Lambert would need for completing his own duties and the echo of Lambert's frustrated and furious howls resounding across the halls of the keep provided them with great satisfaction and much mirth. Only the calming intervention of his kindly wife Elvina, a servant at Avalon, would stop Lambert from beating the boy's bloody if he miraculously caught them in the act.

'Sadly not,' beamed Godric, who was bouncing with excitement, 'it's even better.'

'There's nothing better than pranking Lambert,' replied Hamon sagely,

'I can think of a few things,' Salazar muttered ruefully, returning to his work.

'How about finding an entrance to Merlin's caves?' smiled Godric. His companions simply stared at him blankly,

'Merlin's caves?' Salazar asked,

'What are Merlin's caves?' Hamon said ignorantly, having never heard of them due to his Muggle heritage.

'The fabled caves Merlin created beneath Avalon?' continued Salazar incredulously,

'The very same,' Godric grinned proudly.

'Wait,' Hamon interjected, finally remembering some of the tales he'd heard before, 'you've found Merlin's tomb? I thought that was lost hundreds of years ago?'

'It is lost,' Salazar scoffed, recovering from his shock at Godric's statement, 'ignore him, Hamon, he hasn't found anything.'

'I have,' Godric said, his smile disappearing as he scowled at Salazar, 'It's taken a while but I'm sure I've found it!'

'You're talking shit, Godric!'

'I'm talking to one more like,' Godric shot back, making Hamon laugh, 'I'm telling the truth, Salazar, I've found the entrance to the caves.'

'No one has seen the caves since Nimue was driven into exile,' insisted Salazar, 'that's if they exist in the first place. Even if they do exist, how can you stand there and expect us to believe that you, a twelve-year-old wizard, discovered the caves when Merlin's own pupils could not find it?'

'Just let me show you,' insisted Godric, prompting Salazar to shake his head in exasperation, 'I'll prove it.'

'Godric, stop!' Salazar finally said firmly, 'you're becoming tedious and we've got work to finish, as do you.' Salazar stared at the younger boy for a moment longer, before turning back to the work at hand and pointedly ignored Godric's heated glare. He had little patience in those months. Alain's oldest squire had been furious when he'd been ordered to stay in Avalon. He was now fourteen years of age and Salazar deemed it old enough to experience life on a military campaign. It wasn't uncommon for squires to experience the stark realities of war at an early age. It was well known that Salazar and Alain had argued over it, youthful passion breaking fruitlessly over Alain's unyielding will. Salazar was forced to remain behind and he had been in a bad-tempered mood ever since.

'Actually,' Hamon suddenly perked up, 'I'd quite like to see it.'

'You can't seriously believe him?' Salazar exclaimed, glancing at him indignantly,

'Why not,' Hamon shrugged, 'it sounds like it's worth a look. Besides, Godric doesn't lie. He never does. Why would he start now?'

'That's not the point,' Salazar scoffed, 'don't you see how unfeasibly outlandish it is? That a boy can succeed in a venture which some of the greatest wizards and witches in history have failed in. Can't you see how ridiculous this is?'

'Not really,' Hamon replied, grinning at Godric, 'I'm a Muggle, when it comes to wizards then anything can happen, no matter how unfeasibly outlandish it seems. Come on Sal, a quick look won't hurt and Godric looks like he'll go anyway. Better to have us with him if anything goes wrong.' Salazar didn't reply. He just stared begrudgingly at his two companions. Then he sighed in defeat,

'This better be worth it,' he grunted, scowling at a grinning Godric, 'and you're taking the fall for this if we're caught…'

Godric's find turned out to be nestled in a cellar deep beneath the keep. They managed to avoid any unwanted attentions or prying eyes. The stench of damp and mould assaulted their nostrils as the three boy's slowly descended the spiralling staircase into the gloom below. The further they went, the darker the gloom became until Hamon was forced to light the torch he carried. The fluttering lights revealed a chamber far older than Alain's castle. Indeed, Salazar pointed out that the wall probably belonged to the ruined stronghold which had stood on Avalon's summit before Alain's arrival. The walls were painted with faded colours and crumbling mosaics, displaying bawdy Roman stories and lude depictions of phalluses and nudity. Long forgotten collections of ancient, cracked amphorae, chipped decorative carvings and decaying wooden cages were scattered across the stone-flagged floor. A pungent smell filled the air, which on closer inspection, turned out to be faeces oozing from the cracks in the mosaics. Salazar quickly pulled his hand away from where he had been tracing some of the intricate artwork,

'This place is vile,' he growled in disgust, horrified by this latest development.

'We must be pretty deep beneath the castle,' mused Hamon, laughing at Salazar's vanity, 'that must be coming from the cesspit. How does it feel to have Bayard's shit on you, Sal?' Salazar vented his frustrations by cursing at Hamon until he was breathless.

'Godric,' Salazar snapped irritably, 'you better have something worth showing or Merlin help me, I swear I'll kill you…'

'Here,' Godric answered, smiling as he rolled aside a large, fallen amphorae and revealed a stone flag like all the others except for a large crack running across it. He gestured at it, grinning proudly and remaining ignorant of his companions growing confusion.

'I'm going to kill you,' Salazar breathed, 'there's nothing here but shit and mould. I knew this was going to be a waste of time.'

'Then what's this,' said Godric smugly, nudging the broken flag with his foot. The stone groaned and for a moment, the crack revealed a dim glow of spectral light. His two companions were stunned and as they leant forward for a closer look they could make out the faint sound of trickling water.

'How the hell did you discover this?' inquired Hamon excitedly, whilst Salazar was rendered speechless. Godric smirked and shrugged.

'I just stumbled on it whilst I was checking the stores for Lambert,'

'Meaning you were looking to prank him and accidently discovered this cellar,' said Hamon with a knowing smile. Salazar managed to tear his eyes away from the broken slab,

'Have you explored further?' he asked curiously.

'Not yet,' Godric admitted, shaking his head, 'I thought I'd wait for you two before I did.'

The two wizards stared at each other for a long moment. The younger boy's eagerness to explore the discovery was clear on his face. Judging by his excited grin it appeared that Hamon shared Godric's enthusiasm for the venture and had been right when he had pointed out that Godric was headstrong enough to dare it alone. Even Salazar had to admit that he felt a strong urge to seize the tantalising opportunity to be the first people in centuries to explore the fabled caves of Merlin.

'Okay,' Salazar finally allowed, 'Hamon, get that slab open and keep hold of that torch. A small look won't hurt.' Hamon jumped to work, using the strength gained from hours of rigorous training to prise the broken stone away from the glowing opening. As the cellar was slowly basked in an otherworldly green light, Salazar gripped Godric's arm and forced the younger boy to look him in the eye.

'Are you sure this wise?' he asked quietly.

'Why wouldn't it be?' Godric asked,

'Because apart from our eating knives and Hamon's torch,' Salazar hissed, 'we only have two wands and you can barely use one!'

Godric face darkened into a scowl at the reference to his magical abilities, or lack thereof. Since the day Thibault Ollivander had handed over his wand, Godric had struggled to control and direct his magic to suit his demands. It was a testimony to Alain's patience and abilities as a teacher that Godric had mastered anything at all. His skills were sporadic, at times able to channel his magic to execute spells successfully on the first attempt, whilst on other days he would be unable to perform the most basic charms.

Before he had departed to aid the King, the Lord of Avalon had sought to teach Godric the arts of transfiguration, charms and more combative enchantments. Godric's power was obvious. Indeed, he had even on the rare occasion rivalled Salazar. However, the older apprentice could accomplish feats of magic with an intricate finesse that somehow eluded Godric's grasp and possessed a speed with a wand that the eye found hard to track. The sporadic nature of his abilities were a constant frustration and embarrassment to Godric and he found it hard to stomach Alain's calm reassurances that it would take time and patience to overcome the mental block which appeared to be an impenetrable barrier.

'I'll be fine,' Godric said firmly. Salazar hesitated but for once decided to let it go, although he couldn't help shaking his head in exasperation at the younger boy's stubbornness.

Hamon's efforts to prise the broken stone away from the cavern's entrance engulfed the boys in an encompassing stench of damp and decay which made them all grimace. Thrusting the torch into the darkness revealed a short drop, about the height of a tall man, to a long staircase roughly carved from the cavern's sharp rocks. One after another, the boys dropped carefully into the darkness. They huddled together at the top of the plunging staircase. The torchlight revealed that the rocky stairway clung to the cave wall as they descended into the gloom and disappeared into the dark chasm.

' _Lumos_ ,' whispered Salazar and the end of his wand shone with a pearly white light. Godric followed suit, inwardly relieved when his own wand lit. Then they started to descend into the murky depths below. Subterranean streams and rivers flowed through the rocky chasm bellow and the drumming of falling water was a constant companion. Their progress was slow, as the steps were treacherously slippy with grime and one misstep could send the boy's over the edge of the staircase to become lost in the dark or worse, broken and bloodied heaps on the jagged rocks below. To distract their minds from the darkness clinging to the caverns around them, the two wizards filled Hamon in with the history of the caves, from Merlin's foundations to Nimue's betrayal. Hamon appeared bemused by the tale,

'Isn't it strange how a revered wizard like Merlin found it necessary to hoard his knowledge away from others,' Hamon admitted, 'wouldn't it have benefitted society if such a great wizard had shared his secrets?'

'He did,' replied Salazar, 'and it led to his death.'

'I know,' acknowledged Hamon, 'but why did he share this knowledge with a young girl like Nimue, when he had the trust of kings and more accomplished wizards?'

'Morwenna said that Nimue was his lover,' said Godric, 'and Merlin was old by then. Maybe she gained his trust by lending him a comfort no one else could.'

'So, he was blinded by love?'

'Maybe, or blinded by his lust for her anyway,' Salazar mumbled.

'Sounds like you and a certain maid…umph!'

A hard punch to the arm cut off the remainder of Hamon's sentence.

'You deserved that,' Salazar hissed. Hamon raised a hand to placate his friend's anger.

'Peace,' Hamon chuckled, 'but I still think this Merlin was a shady character.'

'He accomplished many great feats,' Godric defended the ancient wizard, 'he spent years fighting against the dark arts.'

'Besides,' murmured Salazar in awe, raising his shining wand high as they followed a long hollow passage into another cavern, 'I can see wisdom in Merlin's thinking; to have a secret place where you can hoard your knowledge and secrets away from prying eyes. A place only you can reach.' He paused, finding Godric and Hamon staring at him strangely. Salazar shrugged, 'Merlin made the mistake of placing his trust in the wrong person.'

'Who would you trust with such knowledge?' asked Godric curiously,

'With a secret like this,' he gestured at the colossal cavern they had just entered, 'surely you can only trust yourself.'

The three boys drifted into silence as they stared in wonder at the world around them. The cavern they now stood in was colossal, far larger than any church or castle they had seen. Rocky pinnacles hung down like great, glittering spear-heads. At the cavern's centre was a huge void, filled with the patter of water falling from the cavern's roof like gentle rainfall. A subterranean river roared out of a hidden chasm to crash into a deep pool at the caverns foot. Steps hewed from the rocks by magic descended along the cavern wall towards its foot, where dark hollows indicated that secret, unexplored passage ways led further into the labyrinth of Merlin's secret realm.

Yet, what was most astonishing was the crystal's that were encrusted all over the jagged walls. They glittered and shone with spectral light, releasing an ethereal glow over the sparkling cascade of falling water. Merlin's crystal caves were truly a mystical kingdom and the boys wondered wordlessly if they had somehow stumbled upon the gateway to the otherworld.

They descended through the veils of mist rising from the pool. As they went, they checked each burrow and passage, using wands to illuminate their way. Most were empty or caved in, worn down and weakened over the passage of time. Nothing noteworthy appeared to remain in the dank caverns, for whatever treasures Merlin had stored away seemed to have been lost long ago.

'Wait,' Godric's sudden cry echoed off the walls, 'can anyone hear that?'

'Hear what?' asked Hamon, nonplussed.

'That noise,' said Godric, staring about him in confusion, 'it's almost like as if someone is whispering?'

'Godric,' continued Hamon slowly, 'I think you're imagining…'

'No, wait!' Salazar hissed, 'I think…I can hear it too.'

The three boys stared at each other. Whilst Hamon could hear nothing but the patter of falling water and the crackle of his flaming torch, his companions could hear a hushed whisper resonating off the cavern's rocks.

'It's coming from that,' Godric finally decided, pointing towards one eerie tunnel.

'Should we see what it is?' mumbled Hamon hesitantly, trying to mask his rising nerves.

'It could be dangerous,' Salazar warned them,

'Then if it is, we have a duty to protect Avalon,' said Godric, more bravely than he felt. Forcing his rising nerves aside. Godric strode into the dark. Hamon followed shortly behind and Salazar came after, muttering quietly about how Godric would get them all killed.

They delved deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels. As they crept on, the air got thicker and the strange whispering seemed to grow louder. The light of their wands and torches barely penetrated the clinging darkness. Thankfully, the embedded crystals glittered in the walls around them. The rocks beneath their feet grew more uneven and slippery. Then, as they turned a corner in the subterranean maze, they came face to face with a dimly lit light ahead. With only a look, they silently agreed to investigate further, slowly approaching the spectral glow as the whispering grew louder with every step. Finally, they reached the end of the tunnel's gloom, only to be stricken speechless by the sight before them.

The boy's entered a vault far smaller than the colossal cavern they'd discovered and hewed from the rocks by great feats of magic. They gaped more at the source of the spectral glow. This vault was filled with heaps of hoarded treasures. Jewels, gems and gold were piled high. A king's ransom of expensively crafted objects lay forgotten amidst the vast wealth, from gold-rimmed books to shining, bejewelled weapons. An unnatural light shone from the crystal peaked roof. But what drew their gaze more was the huge crystal pillar, half embedded in the rocks and surrounded by the great interweaving roots of Avalon's apple trees.

Godric's companions laughed aloud in awe and dived into the amassed treasures. When Hamon resurfaced, a gold leafed crown was hanging from his head and an intricately gilded spear in his hands. Salazar picked up countless old tomes, brimming with untold secrets. He laid back against the gold, beaming with satisfaction as he began to digest as many of the ancient words as he could understand.

Godric ignored them. His eyes were still drawn to the great monolith which dominated the chamber. He felt a sudden pull on his heart, enticing him to step towards it, the strange whispers still echoing in his ears. Halfway there, his foot struck the pommel of a sword of ancient design. It was a sword forged for a lord of war, the blade marked with symbols and patterns. Keeping hold of the sword, Godric continued until he had reached the pillar. The whispers intensified as Godric scrutinised it closely, his brow furrowed.

There was something inside the pillar. A shadowy blemish trapped deep within the pearly white stone. His frown deepened as he leant closer to the shining crystal. The whispers became a deafening chorus and Godric realised the voice sounded ancient. He couldn't understand the subdued muttering, as it was spoken in a long-forgotten tongue. It spoke on and on, as Godric's keen eyes realised that the strange blemish was the figure of a hunched man. A man deceived and trapped by his own, last enchantment.

'The tomb of Merlin,' Godric whispered in horrified awe. His hand rose, and he pressed it softly against the crystal which housed a wizard in death who was now revered as a deity. Godric couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing.

Then the blurred head shifted and stared directly at him.

Godric cried out in horror and sprang away from the tomb as the figure's jaw gaped open and unleashed a deafening scream which filled the vault. A chilling wind blew through the chamber, extinguishing Hamon's torch. The vault's golden glow was abruptly eclipsed, the only light now radiating from their wands. Hamon and Salazar leapt to their feet in alarm, staring at the Merlin's tomb from where the strangled scream resonated. Salazar strode over to Godric and gripped his arm tightly,

'What did you do?' Salazar snarled furiously.

'The…the tomb!' stuttered Godric incoherently, 'It's…it's the tomb of Merlin!'

Pointing at the crystal pillar, where the shadowy figure could be seen screaming and writhing unnaturally. The three boys baulked, then Salazar let out a sudden cry.

'Look at your feet!'

Looking down, they noticed that the treasures which had once piled high had now disintegrated into dust and scraps of rusted metal. Only now, skeletal fingers crawled out of the earth. Yellowed arms followed, decaying skin hanging loose and torn from bones whilst their skulls, eyeless and veiled with long thinning hair, moaned as they reached the open air. Godric's grip tightened around his sword hilt as the closest skeletal to him clawed at his toes. Stricken with fear, he raised the sword above his head and prepared to strike. However, it suddenly felt light and Godric saw that the once bright blade had vanished, eaten away by rust and age. He dropped the hilt, now defenceless.

'Shit!'

Godric heard the cry and a glance to his side told him that Hamon, having cast aside his now rusted spear, was similarly defenceless. The Muggle squire fumbled for the eating knife at his belt just as one skeletal form succeeding in wrenching itself free and leapt at him with a hideous screech. Godric saw it coming and reacted, raising his wand with a spell on his lips. But his wand faulted and sparked pitifully, failing to produce any spell that could save them.

Bang!

A sound like thunder assaulted their ears, cloaking Hamon's scream of terror. With a flash, the undead ghoul was blasted away from them, bones and rotting flesh flying in all directions. Godric and Hamon gaped at Salazar, who had his wand outstretched and seemed stunned by what he had done. Pale-faced, the oldest amongst them turned to his companions and cried out urgently,

'Run!'

The three boys bolted, retracing their steps to the colossal cavern. Skeletal arms flailed at them as they passed and those groaning ghouls which had managed to puncture through the earth now sprang forward to hamper them. Salazar's wand twirled in his fingers as he cast another spell, sending a bright ball of magic into an oncoming corpse. Hamon, yelling out in fright, gripped his unlit torch in both hands like an axe and swung it in a wide arc, dislodging a fleshless skull from the shoulders of an animated torso which still threatened to throttle him regardless of being rendered headless.

A pair of ghastly figures sprang forwards to heed Godric's progress. He raised his wand again and tried to settle his nerves as he cast the spell. There was a crack but still his wand failed to respond, merely projecting a sparkling red light which illuminated the gaping jaws and thrashing arms of the skeletal spirits attempting to reach him. He tried to step away from them, but his way was impeded by the tightening ring of ghoulish figures swiftly closing in. They were trapped; outnumbered and Godric felt a heart-wrenching terror beginning to overwhelm him.

Something leapt out of the dark and tackled him to the ground. Godric closed his eyes, his small body struggling to release the fiend's clammy claws. The thing's breath erupted over his face, followed by stinking spittle and loose, dislodged earth. He could barely hear Salazar and Hamon shouting his name as his ears rang with the chorus of horrible screams. More hands grabbed at him, monstrous fingers trying to tear his body into bloody ruin and all Godric could do was scream out the first word that came to mind.

' _INCENDIO_!'

Finally, with all hope swiftly diminishing, his wand reacted to his call.

Now, as if the sudden, dire need for it had succeeded in breaching the invisible barrier within his mind and now his magic flooded out. There was a sudden roar and then a stream of flame spewed forth. A ghoul tearing at his arm was immediately engulfed, screeching madly as it rolled away and released him. Suddenly unencumbered, Godric swished his wand around and directed it at the two figures who had forced him to the ground. The flames roared again, and the two monstrous beings were flung away from him, their bones and flesh crackling as the fire ate at their corpses. All Godric could do was watch with wide eyes, heedless of the fact that his actions had just saved all their lives. Several ghoulish creatures lay twitching in burning heaps nearby and these fiery, whimpering beacons seemed to alarm the remaining corpses. They retreated, mewling to themselves as they scurried for the earth they had sprung from and had soon they had disappeared into their subterranean lairs. As they did, the spectral screams subsided, and the darkening cavern fell quiet, only broken by the crackling of smouldering fire and the heavy breathing of the three boys who had unwittingly disturbed its peace.

Godric slowly climbed to his feet and looked at his friends. Both were in a filthy and unkempt condition. They were not unscathed, as Salazar was bleeding from a shallow gash above his eye and Hamon had taken a blow to the face during the brief confrontation, which was now swelling and bruising quickly. Godric himself could feel small trickles of blood coming from the multiple scratches.

'Thank Merlin for small mercies,' breathed Salazar in relief, before he eyed Godric with new found respect, 'Lord Alain always said you had it in you.' Godric would have flushed at the praise had he been not so deathly pale.

'What the hell were those things?' stuttered Hamon, his eyes still as wide as a hunted hare.

'Malevolent spirits to protect the dead,' answered Salazar, blinking madly as he tried to wipe the blood from his eyes, 'Nimue's work. She must have created these wards so that Merlin would not be disturbed, or her murderous deeds discovered!'

'She must have had one hell of an imagination,' Hamon growled between ragged breaths.

'Or a great penchant for cruelty,' said Salazar curiously, 'only the darkest arts can bring back the dead!'

Godric remained silent. He found that he couldn't take his eyes off the flaming creature which now lay in a bundle of bones and scorched flesh, still twitching in its death throes. He was astonished at what he had achieved. His wand felt warm in his hand, revelling in their renewed bond.

'We should get out of here,' whispered Hamon urgently, eying the crystal pillar in which Merlin's corpse was entombed. Salazar heartily agreed.

Godric nodded distractingly, his eyes on the dazzling fire consuming the decaying flesh. The flames were dying as if they were being doused by some invisible force until they finally fizzled out with a hiss. The air about them was growing colder. Godric shivered at the sudden change in temperature and the faces of his friends stood out like pale ghosts in the encompassing darkness. The young squire could tell that they had also realised all was not well. Their breath misted out before them and the atmosphere in the cavern grew chillier with every heartbeat.

' _Idiot boy_!' The voice assaulted him so suddenly that Godric stumbled backwards, flinching away from the memory of Father Thomas's hand striking him with unnecessary force. Godric blinked, attempting to clear his mind. It was to no avail, for another memory returned as quickly as the last had left. His father stood over him with fury in his eyes as blood dripped from his bruised fist. The recollection was nauseating.

'What happening?' Hamon whimpered. Godric barely heard him; he was sat alone in his sleeping quarters at Black-Hollow. Godric felt his heart constrict at the sudden feeling of loss and hopelessness which had all but devoured him after he had learned of his brother's death. The stark realisation that his protector and role-model was gone assaulted his heart again.

'I don't know,' Salazar said in a tiny, far-away voice, so out of character for the usually confident boy Godric had grown to know. A voice roared internally within the youngest squire, demanding that he see to his friends.

' _Lumos_ ,' he stuttered, and his wand lit, illuminating the surrounding area. Hamon and Salazar had gathered close to him, but their eyes looked past Godric and their minds were elsewhere. Salazar shivered as his eyes squeezed shut.

'Fire,' he whimpered pitifully from pale, trembling lips, 'fire.'

'No,' Godric choked, forcing the memory of threatening whispers in Black-Hollow's shadows away. He stumbled, accidently shoving into Salazar and interrupting the boy's own haunting reverie.

'Godric?' he questioned confusingly, his eyes shooting open.

'Salazar,' Godric whispered, 'we need to get out of here. Something's wrong!'

'I know, but what is it?'

'I'm not sure, but I think something…all I can feel is…' his stumbling reply came to an abrupt Something was stirring in the gloom. He raised his wand higher and as the light spread, Godric's heart almost stopped. A scream died on his lips, for from the darkness emerged a spectre shrouded in black. It hovered in the air, the tattered fabric of its rotten cloak fluttered calmly over clammy, decayed flesh and its eyeless mask appeared to be fixed upon them. The foul creature radiated despair and decay; the embodiment of evil.

'We…we need to leave!' Godric declared meekly. He risked a glance at his companions, to find Salazar ashen faced and staring at the monstrous vision with wide, terrified eyes.

'Why?' Hamon stammered fearfully. He followed their gaze, but his Muggle eyes could not see the fiendish beast before them.

'Just trust us,' said Salazar. The creature watched on ominously, unmoving as it hovered above them. Despair crashed over the boys with the force of a storm-born wave against a rocky shore. Godric cringed at the image of his mother's pale corpse and her fraught screams as the childbirth killed her resounded in his ears.

'NO,' He couldn't think of it; he wouldn't face those emotions again. He roared against it and a fury he hadn't known he contained sparked within his breast. He whipped his wand through the air and pointed it at the creature, yelling out a spell as he did so. A blazing ball crackled through the dark and collided with the spectre. However, instead of forcing the spectre back, the spell fizzled out on impact. A choking wheeze croaked from the spectre's faceless mask, the closest sound to amusement it could muster.

Godric's flaring defiance wrenched his friends from their immobile state. Salazar was the first to act, flinging the hapless Hamon back towards the cavern's unbarred exit. Forcibly shoving Godric behind him, Salazar quickly sent his own spell soaring after Godric's. It had the same inadequate effect. Only this time the spectre rushed into action and flew towards them, emitting a hideous, blood-curdling screech.

Salazar released a strangled yell and fled with Godric. The darkness of the tunnel engulfed them, yet still they could sense the creature following behind at a frightening pace. The apprentices tried to hinder the foul things progress, shooting spells over their shoulders at the advancing creature. To no avail, as the flashes briefly illuminated the spectre's foul and fiendish visage. Their sense of despair grew stronger and the ongoing assault of their bleakest memories became harder to resist.

Then Salazar yelled out as he tripped on a loose rock and tumbled to the ground with a panicked yelp, his two companions turning at the sound of his stricken cries. Salazar scrambled forwards and tried to regain his feet, but a sharp pain in his ankle brought him crashing down with a strangled wail.

'Sal!' Hamon cried and Salazar turned to find the spectre bearing down on him through the dark, its discoloured arms reaching out from beneath its tattered shroud. It reared up before him, ready to descend on its prey and relishing their terrified screams.

' _BOMBARDA_!' Godric's strangled cry roared through the empty caverns. The creature turned to face him, only to find a wand pointed at the rocky ceiling between it and its prey. With a mighty bang, a spell issued forth and tore into the crystallised rock with destructive force. For a moment, nothing changed and the spectre, sensing trouble, hurtled through the air with a desperate haste.

Then the very earth around them shuddered with a thunderous noise. Rocks burst down from the ceiling above, joined by sparkling crystals and flurries of streaming water, blocking the creatures path. Salazar lay unmoving and would have been crushed if Godric and Hamon hadn't dared the falling rocks to pull him away. Helping the stricken Salazar to his feet, they didn't look back as the cave gave way in a heap rocks and choking dust until it blocked the entrance to Merlin's tomb. They heard one last, terrible screech of outrage echo off the walls around them before they blundered into the grand cavern and the furious screams slowly drifted into silence.

The boys refused to stop. They dared not, for they didn't know what other foul creatures or dark magic they had foolishly disturbed. They kept running, helping Salazar stumble on and not caring where they went. The only thought on their minds was getting as far away from the evil they had just confronted.

It took them all by surprise when they felt a sudden wave of clean air wafting through the passageway they had bolted down. Finally coming to a halt, they staggered slowly on until they were met by the blinding light of a dying sun. The stink of the marshes greeted them, but for once the dank scent smelt heavenly to them after the pungent decay which clogged the caves. They roughly pushed through the undergrowth which veiled the entrance to the hidden passageway until, after battling through the clawing nettles, they finally emerged into the light.

They savoured the marshy air as their exhausted bodies slumped to the sodden earth, their clothes stained with grime, blood and filth; torn by shredding thorns, rocks and the attack from the cursed creature. Once they had recovered their wits, all eyes turned to the shadowed entrance to the caves, now hidden behind the veil of undergrowth. A dim spectral light, radiating from the crystals which encrusted the tunnel's walls, shone faintly in the dying light.

'We need to get away from this place,' Salazar breathed,

'I agree,' mumbled Hamon, as he tenderly examined his swelling face in a dark pool.

'Where do we go?' interrupted Godric, staring out at the mists which clogged the surrounding marshes and hid many other foul beings from sight.

'We'll have to skirt the foot of the island,' mused Salazar grimly, 'and climb the trail to the gatehouse.'

'We'll have to cause enough bloody racket to alert someone of our presence,' finished Hamon sourly. He could picture Morwenna's wrath once she discovered what had transpired. Godric whistled,

'Lady Morwenna will not be happy.'

'Neither will Lord Alain when he returns,' added Hamon. Godric felt the first waves of guilt wash over him. Why had he so casually disregarded Morwenna's warnings?

'I'd rather take my chances with Lady Morwenna's wrath than whatever curses Nimue left in there,' Salazar said honestly, gesturing at the caves they had just fled from.

'More fool you,' mumbled Hamon apprehensively, 'I'd rather take on those monsters.'

With a weary sigh, the three boys rose to their feet and began to trek towards Avalon's gate. However, before leaving, Godric paused and turned one last time to look at the tunnel. He stared at it for a long moment, then took out his eating knife and approached the old stooping willow, where he quickly carved Avalon's symbol of an apple into the ancient bark. Once he was satisfied, Godric lowered his wand and again cast his eyes towards the caves. A familiar chill overcame him, and he shivered in the summer air, despite being content with his initiative. There may be a time when a knowledge of this secret place was needed.

Turning away, Godric stumbled over the rough undergrowth and ran to catch up with his companions. In their fatigued state, it took the boy's longer than expected to find the small trail which led up through the apple trees and even longer to climb it. The sky had darkened by the time they reached the brow of the hill and stumbled towards the gates, all three racked with nerves.

They needn't have worried about alerting the household of their presence, for the gate was already open and in the gap waited Morwenna. Her face was cast in shadows, but the flicker of the burning torch in her hands illuminated a glacial scowl which made all three boys gulp in dread. As she ushered them into the castle's bailey, Morwenna fixed them all with a stony glare, although her gaze lingered pointedly on Godric, forcing the younger boy to look away guiltily.

'Back from your adventure?' she broke the awkward silence. Her voice was as icy as she looked.

'I'm sorry, Lady…' began Salazar,

'Spare me your apologies,' Morwenna suddenly snapped, her eyes flashing, 'you have a courtier's tongue Salazar, but if I have need of it then I shall call. I have warned each of you before about the many secrets hidden in Avalon. You decided to ignore my warnings and have discovered why I thought they were necessary.'

The boys nodded. Morwenna sighed at their disheartened expressions.

'I am furious that you deliberately disobeyed me,' she chastised them wearily, 'Godric, I presume it was you who conjured up this foolish venture? You are all young and I cannot blame you for your curiosity. Avalon holds many wonders. I should know as I have lived in Avalon for many lives of men…'

Godric's head shot up. Many lives of men? The mystery surrounding the Lady of Avalon deepened instantly. However, the look on Morwenna's face told him that she would not tolerate his curiosity.

'I thought that as squires to the Lord of Avalon, you would realise that the magical world contains innumerable dangers. Even here in Avalon, evil lingers in the shadows. Many people have lived here and not all of them peacefully. Having encountered the foulness which thrives in the deeps beneath us, I hope you can finally understand how fortunate you are to have survived'.

They all nodded, shivering as they remembered the dark spectre. Morwenna's eyes glanced over their wearied and dishevelled appearance and her cold gaze softened reluctantly.

'Now, go and clean yourselves before getting some rest,' she sighed, 'besides, I'm sure Lambert will vigorously ensure that this evening's chores will be done before first light breaks upon us and I assure you that you will not escape punishment.'

The boys groaned before they began to shuffle towards the keep, imagining just how much Avalon's steward was bound to delight in his revenge. As Godric shuffled dishearteningly past Morwenna, he paused and glanced up in to her stern face.

'How did you know?' he asked her, unable to resist. She held his gaze for a long moment, peering at him intensely,

'The water's told me,' Morwenna replied softly and said no more about it.


	9. Chapter Eight: Storm Clouds

**Storm Clouds**

Autumn 1088

The stench of shit was overpowering. After days spent in this repugnant world, Godric's senses had almost gotten used to the smell of shit and piss that filled the air around him. The boy sighed and stretched his aching arms. Cleaning Avalon's cesspit, without the aid of magic, was a disgusting chore and Godric would have leaped at the chance to escape it. Yet, this was the penalty for disobeying Lady Morwenna's strict orders to curtail his explorations.

Since Morwenna had discovered their perilous little adventure into the bowels of Avalon's subterranean labyrinth of glittering caves, the three boys had been put through a vigorous regime of duties under the delighted eyes of Avalon's steward. The additional work, slotted between their usual duties, had rendered all three boys so exhausted that it was a substantial effort just to stumble into their beds at night. As the instigator of their misdeeds, the worst tasks had been reserved for Godric. In the long hours he had spent in this stinking hellhole, Godric had sussed out that Morwenna had known instantly whose idea it had been to venture into the darkness beneath Avalon and had punished him accordingly.

Godric had suffered in sombre silence, understanding that having risked the lives of his friends, he deserved the punishment. He couldn't even summon any anger about Lambert's gleeful enjoyment of the situation. After all, the three boys had put the steward through all kinds of hell in the past. Over the last few days, he had been washing and grooming himself as fastidiously as Salazar in a hopeless attempt to remove the stench which seemed to cling permanently to him. Both Hamon and Salazar didn't fare much better, although Godric didn't know for sure what revenge Lambert had allotted for them, as they had barely seen each other since their ill-fated venture.

'Master Godric,' came a call from above him. Godric stepped back from the wooden ladder and looked up to find the pretty handmaiden Rhyannon staring down at him, making a half-hearted attempt to avoid grimacing at the foul world he laboured in. All three squires knew her well, for Rhyannon was a sweet and popular girl. Godric laughed at her reaction,

'Rhyannon,' he hailed her, cleaning his hands on a clean strip of cloth, 'welcome to my humble abode.'

'It's a pleasure,' she told him, her expression saying the complete opposite. Godric chuckled,

'What can I help you with?'

'Lady Morwenna sent me,' she told him hurriedly, eager to be away from the stench, 'she needs your assistance.'

'Why?' Godric asked curiously, frowning at her uncharacteristic insistence.

'Lord Alain has returned from his service with the King,' she gushed, 'they say he is gravely wounded.'

For a moment Godric remained perfectly still, then he launched into action, leaping up the ladder to the trapdoor overhead. He leapt out of the cesspit in such a hurry that he almost sent Rhyannon tumbling.

'Where?' he demanded urgently.

'The great hall,' she said, holding a hand up to cover her nose from the stench radiating from him, 'his retainers have gathered with him. Masters Salazar and Hamon are already there.' She flushed a little at the mention of Salazar but Godric barely noticed. It was no secret that the young maid was fond of Salazar Slytherin. Godric rushed down the corridor, only pausing to ask Rhyannon to meet him in the great hall with a bowl of scented water in which to wash. Then he was off again, hurtling through Avalon's keep, ignoring the servants he almost sent sprawling as they dived away to avoid the young squire.

When he entered the hall, he found it in chaos. Relief washed over him at the sight of seeing the familiar faces of Alain's retinue stalking the hall amidst the gathered household. Not one was missing, although Gervais was sat on a bench, pale-faced and muttering curses as his brother tended to a nasty burn on his arm. Godric quickly located his uncle amidst the chaos in the hall.

Alain sat upon his high seat. As Godric approached, he marvelled at the sight before him. He had never seen his uncle like this. In his eyes, Alain was indestructible. However, this image was now shattered and for the first time Godric realised that his uncle was merely a mortal man like any other.

Alain's skin was grey, and he looked fatigued, sweat streaming from him. Morwenna was kneeling by his side, anxiously scanning the long leg which lay stretched out, upon a bench which was slick with blood. Isolde was by her side, hurriedly explaining her earlier efforts to heal it. Clustered around them stood Lambert, who was speaking in hushed whispers to Hugh. Godric's fellow squires had already arrived, both pale faced. Hamon clutched a large bowl of fresh water at the ready, although the refreshing liquid had long since turned scarlet. More surprisingly was Ella's unexplained presence, especially in such proximity to Morwenna. However, in her husband's need, it appeared the Lady of Avalon had forgotten her testy feud with the whore, for Ella was now whispering advice whilst holding a bundle of dry linen strips. Gone was the usual playful wink she often sent Godric's way to embarrass him and she looked completely serious.

Alain's eyes had been closed as he was tended to by those closest to him. However, they opened as he heard Godric's approach and a tired smile flickered at his lips as he recognised his nephew.

'Godric,' he acknowledged, 'Merlin boy, you grow taller every time I lay eyes on you.' He paused and wrinkled his nose at the horrible stench Godric emitted. Bayard, who was lounging broodingly nearby, suddenly turned away from Godric with a muttered curse,

'God's bollocks, who smells of shit!' The rest of the hall didn't disagree, although Godric noticed Lambert trying to hide a satisfied smile behind his hand as he disappeared towards Avalon's cellar on an errand for Hugh. Even Salazar edged away from his friend, unable to stomach the overwhelming stench.

'He still smells better than you, Bayard' Ella countered waspishly. Fortunately, Rhyannon arrived close on Godric's heel with a bucket of scented water, a clean cloth and a change of clothes. She quickly passed them over to Godric, who rushed to the corner of the room to wash. Rhyannon hastened away with downcast eyes, although she managed to sneak a glance at Salazar, who for once barely returned her smile. Godric returned quickly, having cleansed himself of the worst of it. He returned Alain's smile tentatively.

'You're looking well, Lord.' Alain let out a bark of laughter, which soon turned into a hiss as he accidently shifted his leg. Now the overpowering stench of shit had subsided, Godric could finally smell the bitter scent of infected flesh. Looking over Morwenna's bent head, he saw the wound which caused it and visibly blanched. A deep gash had been carved into his flesh and was slowly leaking a poisonous mix of blood and puss. The skin around it was scabbed and blistered, as if it had been charred. Godric looked on in stunned disbelief whilst Morwenna probed the wound and shook her head furiously,

'You fool,' she chastised her husband sharply. The three boys exchanged looks. They knew that tone; the Lady of Avalon was deeply displeased. They had witnessed it before and were thankful that for once it wasn't directed at them.

'I had no choice,' Alain answered her wearily,

'There's always a choice,' she spat, her eyes never leaving her husband's infected limb. Alain shook his head, unwilling to argue with her in his exhausted state. His refusal to respond caused his wife fume more. Fortunately, she decided to bite her tongue, instead levelling a glowering look at Hugh, 'how did this happen?'

Godric saw Hugh visibly bristle at the unsaid accusation in Morwenna's gaze. Surprisingly, it was Bayard who answered her.

'Bellême,' the big man grunted. Those closest to him fell silent, recognising the name of an infamous wizard. Godric and Salazar exchanged a startled look, the former feeling the recurring flutter of apprehension pulse through his heart at the mention of Bellême. Morwenna was now giving her husband a very hard look, although Godric saw that his fear was mirrored in her eyes as she demanded an explanation. Alain sighed,

'We always knew this could happen,' he said, 'Bellême was with the rebels. Merlin, he was leading most of them. He's got Curthose in his pocket and with that band of savage men at his back, he is a formidable enemy. As soon as this rebellion began there was every possibility that we would cross paths.'

'Did you go looking for him?' Morwenna suddenly demanded sharply. Alain looked astonished,

'Of course not,' he growled, 'what in Merlin's name do you take me for?'

'I know you Alain,' his wife countered, 'I know you better than anyone here. I know what you are like, especially when you feel like you have something…or someone to protect.' Her eyes flickered towards Godric and Salazar. Even in his fatigued state, Alain caught the glance.

'You're right,' he admitted firmly, 'I would confront him if it meant protecting the boys. But they were safe in Avalon, not on the battlefields outside Rorchester. It was Bellême who sought out me.'

'Why?' Morwenna persisted, 'why you?'

'Other than being an unpleasant man, I fear I may have misjudged his thirst for revenge. My squires embarrassed him before the great magnates of the realm. Even a year later, that humiliation rankles deeply. He was bound to seek me out if our paths crossed in battle. Besides,' he paused to consider the meaning in his wife's eyes, 'we already know he can hold a feud.'

Morwenna held his gaze for a long time,

'There was nothing that you could do about that,' she reminded him firmly, soaking a rag in sparkling water and pressing it against Alain's leg. The wound hissed violently, and steam issued from the rag, causing Alain to stiffen and growl in pain. When she finally took the rag away, Alain breathed a sigh of relief.

'He still blames me,' he finally grunted out, his eyes closed and avoiding the stern yet sympathetic glance his wife directed at him. Godric sensed that there was more being said, as if the embarrassment Bellême suffered during the King's coronation was not the only incident being alluded to here. It was obviously a private topic, for even Morwenna chose not to press her husband further. Instead, she returned to her husband's wound as Lambert strode back into the hall, carrying a costrel of uisce beatha, the strongest alcohol stored in Avalon.

Lambert passed the costrel to Alain, who regardless of its burning taste, immediately began gulping down the potent brew like it was the water of life. Morwenna raised an eyebrow at Alain's behaviour, but didn't seek to dissuade or chastise him, recognising that her husband's dulled senses would be a blessing against the pain he would endure as the wound was treated. Emptying the costrel, Alain threw it aside and ordered Hugh to tell the rest of the tale. The scarred warrior had been brooding silently, but he did as Alain bid.

The kingdom had been thrown into chaos as the rebellious barons violently scourged the countryside and rumours of Curthose's invasion sparked fear in every corner of the realm. However, Rufus had reacted quickly and efficiently. With Alain's wise counsel, the King had promised vast rewards for those nobles who remained loyal to him. Then he had set out for the castle of Pevensey at the head of his army, where his traitorous uncle, one of the leading instigators of the rebellion, resided. Alain's retinue had been sent to besiege the castle of Tonbridge. Gilbert Fitz Richard, the baron in charge of the castle's defence, was prepared for a long and bitter siege, but had obviously not expected to be facing Alain of Avalon, the King's Grand Sorcerer.

Despite fierce resistance from the defenders, Alain and his retainers had scaled the walls and forced the garrison to surrender. Alain faced Fitz Richard on the castle walls and wounded him so grievously that it was rumoured the bastard had been forced to relinquish his titles and retreat to a monastery.

Godric's eyes were wide and he was eager for his uncle to expand on the duel. He was disappointed, for Hugh merely stated that they had immediately left to protect the King, who was having difficulties fighting the rebels and wizards led by the imperious Bellême, leaving Tonbridge as a smoking ruin. The rebellious Bellême had led his ruthless band of hardened soldiers on a bloody campaign, ravaging the land with spells and swords. Better to be killed in battle than be taken prisoner by Bellême, for he had a penchant for cruelty and torture. Hastening to the King's side, Alain arrived as the monarch advanced on the stronghold at Rorchester, the centre of rebellious activity. Brutal skirmishing had erupted around the castle as the rebels battled with the King's encroaching forces and much blood had been shed on both sides. It was during one of these skirmishes that Bellême's pack of merciless wolves had fought Alain's retinue.

'We were evenly matched,' Alain admitted drunkenly, although the clench of his jaw indicated how unhappy he was to admit it, 'I instantly started duelling Bellême and it was clear he wanted me dead. Hugh tried to stay beside me, but the press of men was too great. I held my own, but Bellême can wield a sword and wand simultaneously, as well as having a great knowledge of the dark arts. I saw Bellême's spell slip past my guard, then all I remember is the pain. I was thrown to the ground, although the bastard was also bleeding.' He belched loudly and swayed where he sat, his features turning paler as he remembered the duel. Salazar leapt forward to help hold Alain upright until he regained his composure. Alain looked sickened by what had happened,

'I've fought all my life,' he suddenly growled, 'I've fought many duels and defeated better wizards than Bellême, yet if it hadn't been for Hugh I would have died in some shit-filled ditch…'

'That sounds like a familiar tale,' Morwenna said quietly, glancing at Hugh with forgiveness and regret. Hugh met her glance and shook his head. He obviously disagreed with Alain's praise.

'Hugh managed to block Bellême's curse on his shield,' Isolde quietly explained, 'then leapt at Bellême. He almost reached him…'

'Could you have beaten him?' interrupted Salazar, gesturing at Alain's wounded body and sounding unconvinced.

'I would have disembowelled him,' Hugh promised darkly. He stared unblinkingly at Salazar, as if daring the younger boy to dispute it. Godric saw Salazar gulp and accept the truth with a fervent nod. Anyone who argued with Hugh in his present mood was risking both life and limb.

'He certainly made short work of the bastard who got in-between them,' Bayard chuckled darkly.

'It must have been a very dark spell,' murmured Morwenna, her voice quivering as she continued to soak Alain's wound in water drawn from Avalon's magical pools, 'I dare not consider what spell he tried to use to kill you'.

'It made quick work of my shield,' Hugh admitted with a grunt, 'melted it. Wood, leather, and iron were gone in a few heartbeats. It bypassed the protective wards as if they were cast by a mere child'. He was rubbing his left forearm as he finished. Ella's sharp eyes caught the action,

'You're injured,' she said pointedly. Morwenna looked up sharply, 'Yusuf!'

The scholar stepped up to dais,

'Please fetch my herbs and salves, maybe a few of your own as well. If Bellême's spell was as dark as I suspect, then I will need to see Hugh's wound as soon as I am finished here.'

'Certainly, Lady.' As Yusuf scuttled away, Hugh tried to protest,

'Lady, it is nothing…'

'Don't be absurd,' she snapped at him harshly, 'Do you want to be known as Hugh One-Hand for the rest of your life?'

Hugh simply glowered, but did not reply.

'Stop making a nuisance of yourself. Sit down and finish your tale,' Morwenna commanded. Hugh remained silent, his features darkening. Hamon took a step away from his father, keen to not be associated with Hugh's stubborn resolve. Morwenna glanced at him again. With a displeased grunt, Hugh backed down first and seated himself at the large table, scowling at the stifled sniggers that ruffled through the hall. Only Bayard dared to laugh openly and even this was done in a subdued manner.

'Lord Alain, despite the wound, insisted we should stay long enough to see the rebel's defeated,' Hugh ultimately continued, rubbing his face wearily, 'Rumours eventually drifted in that Curthose had abandoned the rebels. With no support, the rebel's surrendered. Rufus was lenient. Only his uncle was banished whilst the rest of the vipers were accepted back into the fold, Bellême amongst them. By this time, Lord Alain's wound was festering and despite Isolde's best efforts, the King deemed it necessary for him to return to Avalon. As soon as the King gave us leave, we rode here as swiftly as we could.'

The older inhabitants of the hall breathed out a sigh of relief at the news that the rebellion had been crushed. Godric, Salazar and Hamon shared a look, holding back a groan of disappointment.

'Foolish man,' Morwenna breathed, shaking her head at her husband's stubbornness, 'if you had the sense to heal this properly then you may have been able to avoid infection. If the curse had bitten deeper, then you could have been crippled, or worse. You'll certainly be limping for quite some time.' Alain shrugged drunkenly,

'I've been crippled since the day I became Lord of Avalon,' he said tiredly,

'Do you regret it?' Morwenna challenged him.

'Never,' he chuckled, smiling fondly, 'you were bathing in the pool beside the hanging willow…' Morwenna slapped his leg, right where his flesh was bruised and reddened, causing Alain to roar in agony. It achieved her goal of silencing him, although the bright blush which flooded the usually demure woman's face betrayed her chagrin at her husband's drunken rambling. Godric couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him, and it was joined by many others. Ella's feline smile had returned, as if she didn't quite believe her luck.

As Alain groaned in pain, Morwenna returned her attention to his wound with added vigour and it wasn't long before she stood and claimed that she done all she could for now to cleanse the leg of the poisons which infected it. Binding it in clean linens, she signalled for someone to help Alain to his private chamber so that he could rest, although when Hugh stood she snapped at him to stay still so that she could tend to his wounds. This duty fell to Alain's squires, who helped lead Alain to his bedchamber and saw to his needs. They tried to ignore his drunken ramblings, often having to bite their tongues to avoid laughing as he chortled and cursed about old stories stirred from the mists of time. However, as they were leaving, Alain caught Godric's attention as the young boy was about to step over the threshold.

'Godric,' Alain blurted out, his bleary eyes searching the chamber hazily before fixing upon the young boy, 'I almost forgot, I saw your father recently'. Godric frowned before asking emotionlessly.

'You did, Lord?'

'Aye,' Alain continued tiredly, 'despite his faults your father's still a loyal man, especially to the King. He was in good spirits, so good that he didn't even seem to mind my presence.' Godric merely stared at Alain questioningly. His lack of response caused Alain to sigh deeply,

'His wife is pregnant.'

Emotionally, the words struck Godric like a sword-blow, although outwardly his stoic expression remained unchanged. Pregnant! In his drunken state, Alain didn't seem to sense the tempest of emotions doing battle in Godric's mind.

'I'm sorry, but he made no mention of you, or showed any interest in knowing how you fared,' he paused for a moment, smiling sadly, 'however, I was approached by your father's man, Siward isn't it? I suspect it was done in secret, but he appeared honest in his motivations. He was pleased to hear how well you were progressing in Avalon and wanted you to know that he looks forward to seeing the man you will become.'

Godric still looked unmoved and he didn't reply as Alain slowly drifted off to sleep after a response wasn't forthcoming. Yet, when he finally made to leave, he heard Alain raise his voice again,

'By the way, go and bathe. I can't have my squires stinking of shit!'

At last, this brought a faint smile to Godric's lips as he slipped into the dark hallway. The smile slowly vanished as he made his way back to his own sleeping quarters. The news of the impending pregnancy had instantly robbed him of any wish he may have had to seek out Alain's retainers and listen to their tales of war.

In the privacy of his own chamber, he felt a restlessness surge deep within him. He was wallowing in rage. His wand, nestled in his belt, sparked in response to the sudden rush of emotions and he felt a hatred for the man who had maimed his uncle.

Bellême. The warrior who had beaten and bullied him; whose visage so resembled the jeering, blood-stained knight who haunted his dreams. Godric's rage begged for release and he promised that he would drive himself to exhaustion until he was powerful enough to defeat Bellême.

Godric turned and with a sudden grunt, struck the wall so hard the blow left a small dent in the wooden wall. He felt a stinging hatred for his father also, but this was tempered and cold, less heated than the boiling fury he reserved solely for Bellême. His father was to have another child. Godric was going to have a sibling. His father thought nothing of sharing his celebratory news with strangers, yet of Godric he wished to know nothing. Godric's head hung down and he felt the fresh stirrings of the loss he hadn't felt since first reaching Avalon's gates. If the child was a son, then he would be disinherited and forbidden from setting foot in his childhood home for fear that he would attempt to oust his brother.

Godric collapsed upon the feathered bed, his head in his hands. His anger simmered away. Faint wisps of half-hearted jealousy for this unborn child were conjured in his heart, but he quickly dismissed them. He couldn't hate an innocent child for the crimes and prejudices of its father. Whether his mother-in-law gave birth to a son or a daughter, Godric decided it mattered little. If the opportunity arose, then he would be there for this unknown child, like William had once been and like how Salazar and Hamon were there for him now. Godric sighed as he slipped into sleep. His dreams were troubled for many nights.


	10. Chapter Nine: Brothers

**Brothers**

Autumn 1090

Magic was a strange beast. After spending three years being tutored in it, Godric had come to understand this fundamental rule. As the youth stood in Avalon's small tiltyard, his wand outstretched before him, he contemplated his ability to channel magic to his will. On the one hand, it was a force for good, a gift bestowed on magical people to help those in need and defend them against the ever-encroaching influence of the dark arts. On the other, it was malleable and fickle, easily bent to the will and interests of the wizard who called upon it, for good or ill.

Yet, what Godric found most strange was how even under the guidance of the most talented wizard, magic was barely controllable. It was like a leashed beast, subservient and domesticated whilst under a strong hand. However, once unleashed, it was as wild and unpredictable as a feral wolf, capable of tearing at all those who stood in its way, even the wizard who had sought to wield it.

CRACK!

A vicious spell soared just wide of his shoulder and crackled as it collided with the stone keep. Godric was rudely dislodged from his thoughts as his mind instantly focused on the task at hand. His body spun sideways, easily avoiding another spell which had barrelled towards him in quick succession after the first and sparked as it hit the ground behind him. Standing again, Godric waved his own wand and a bright shield erupted before him. A loud clang resonated around the bailey, like metal being struck, echoed over the tiltyard as Godric's shield shimmered but held in place. From behind it, Godric grinned at his opponent.

'Good,' Alain acknowledged with a smile, 'but never lose focus. My first could have ended you if I'd wanted it,'

'Are you dreaming again old man,' Godric retorted. Alain barked with laughter before his wand flashed again. Another spell collided with Godric's shield, far stronger than the last. The shield absorbed the blast, before shattering. Godric dived hastily away as a spell followed through, scorching the ground where he'd been stood a moment before. Godric rolled, felt the heat of another spell explode beside him, before darting up and parrying Alain's next with a flourish. Only this time, Godric countered. With a cry, he sent a spell flying before firing a second swiftly after. Alain summoned a loose stone at the edge of the yard to intercept the first, which turned to ice as the spell impacted against it. He battered the next aside before conjuring a spear and sending it hurtling towards his young opponent.

With a grunt, Godric dived beneath the shining spearhead. With a flick of his wand, the spear was transfigured into a frothing hound.

'Attack,' he yelled and the conjured beast growled before darting towards Alain. Godric sent a flurry of spells after it, hoping to distract his master but Alain wasn't considered one of the most powerful wizards in Britain for nothing. His shield shone far brighter than Godric's and barely shimmered as it deflected Godric's bombardment away effortlessly, gifting Alain enough time to vanish the hound, which vanished with a pitiful whimper.

Alain's foot turned cold. Glancing down, he discovered his foot covered in ice and cemented firmly to the ground, the culmination of one of Godric's freak spell's getting through whilst his attention was on not being savaged by the transfigured hound. He heard a shout in the distance and was forced to use his wand defensively as several spells exploded towards him, batting each one aside before quickly releasing his foot from its freezing bind

Momentarily open to an attack, Alain was astonished that no spell came to finish him. The older man paused to see whether his nephew would strike. Yet Godric hesitated, before sending a half-hearted spell fizzing through the air. Alain didn't even bother to deflect it. He advanced forwards, firing spells in rapid succession. Godric, as agile and swift as he was, attempted to avoid the worst of them but struggled as Alain's spell rate increased in intensity.

Godric raised his wand and cast his own shield, falling predictably into his uncle's trap. A flick of the wand caused a large stone to hurtle from the outer rim of the tiltyard and struck Godric's legs from behind, toppling him with a yelp. The boy reacted quickly and attempted to regain his feet, ducking under one spell and deflecting another before a vicious red light struck him in the chest, sending him flying backwards to collapse into the dirt, unconscious.

When he regained consciousness, his uncle stood over him. The Lord of Avalon's jaw was clenched, and his eyes burned with anger.

'You held back,' Alain said sternly as Godric shook his sore head, 'you held back Godric and I know why? Do you think I'm crippled? Do you think it is dishonourable to duel with men like me?'

'Lord, I swear I didn't…'

'Don't lie to me, Godric,' Alain interrupted his nephew's excuses coldly, 'you're a terrible liar!'

Seeing Godric's head hang down in shame elicited a deep sigh from the older man.

'I don't understand why this behaviour continues,' he told his nephew, 'you have the talent and potential to equal any wizard. By Merlin, you certainly have the power. Yet still, you hesitate when the time comes to strike.'

'My magic,' admitted Godric mournfully, 'it still fluctuates…'

'Only because you let it,' Alain told him firmly, 'Merlin Godric, do you not realise how far you've come since you first arrived here. Does it matter if you lack the finesse that Salazar possesses? You make up for that with your creativity and physicality. Your use and knowledge of combat spells and transfiguration are truly remarkable for a boy your age.'

'Salazar still beats me.'

'Salazar is two years your senior and his spell-work differ from yours. Salazar is cunning and fights like a serpent, testing his opponent and assessing their weaknesses before striking. Facing you in a magical duel is like a seafarer facing a storm. If your opponent can weather it then you will tire, and they will best you. Salazar understands this. Why don't you adapt the guile you so effortlessly command on the tiltyard for your magical duels; the strokes of a wand are not so dissimilar to those of a blade.'

Godric nodded, understanding what his uncle was telling him. He had adapted everything he had learned in sword practice to his wand-work, to fruitful results. The problem was entirely mental.

He didn't trust the magic within him. When he saw his uncle stranded in place, he had raised his wand to press his sudden advantage. Yet, the strength of his desire to strike made him falter. His magic was wild and uncontrollable, rearing its head like a savage beast. The intensity of this violent desire had petrified him so much that his wilful struggle to subdue it had caused his brief hesitation. By the time he had wrestled it back under his control, the chance to act was lost and his uncle's temper ignited. Whilst he could hold his own and sometimes press his uncle during their mock duels, there were few wizards who could confidently face the Lord of Avalon when angered.

Alain pressed a hand to his nephew's shoulder, looking sympathetic.

'The confidence to trust yourself will come in time, Godric,'

'If you insist, Lord,' Godric responded dully, 'I'm sorry if you thought I hesitated because of your…mm,' he was lost for words, gesturing wordlessly at Alain's leg. His uncle chuckled,

'There is nothing to forgive. I know you don't see me as less of a man because of it.' Godric nodded earnestly, although it still pained him to mention it. Ever since his uncle had recovered from the wound he'd received at Bellême's hands, the Lord of Avalon had walked with a clear limp. Where his enemies and rivals saw a weakened cripple, those who knew and loved him saw no difference, for he was still the same Alain who was both feared and admired across the kingdom. His wounded leg had certainly not dulled the adoration Godric felt for his uncle.

Alain dismissed Godric with a wave of his hand, telling him to go and rest before his sword practice with Hugh began. Stretching sore muscles, Godric walked away, heading towards the keep in eager pursuit of a quick meal before he'd have to return to the tiltyard. Forcing away his frustrations with his recent wizarding duel, he passed Salazar as he entered the keep's main gate. Neither boy shared a glance. In fact, both boys were content to ignore each other, passing by without a word.

Over the three years since Godric's arrival, the Lord of Avalon's three squires had grown as close as brothers. They shared everything, bickered constantly and mocked each other mercilessly. They performed their duties together and were trained for war as a team, so that when the time came, they would protect each other during a fight.

There were no secrets between them. Godric and Hamon even knew that Salazar had a pet adder in which he could curiously communicate with in hushed hisses. Godric found this talent intriguing and had no qualms with bombarding the older boy with inquisitive questions, especially when Salazar had admitted that it was his snake, acting on his orders, which had bitten Bellême's ankle at the King's coronation. It unsettled Hamon greatly, but even he eventually accepted its presence, although he'd made Salazar swear that he'd never release the snake into his chamber if Hamon ever took his ridiculing too far.

However, recently this cordial dynamic had changed.

Petty jealousies were usually accepted and quickly ignored. Yet, when it came to their exploits with the opposite sex, then the relationship between the boys often become fraught. When Salazar had reached the age of sixteen, he had quickly discovered the certain joys that women could offer. With his tall, darkly handsome features and charming wit, he quickly became a very popular member of Avalon's household, especially with the female proportion of the community. He could often be found whispering in a maid's ear and he openly admitted that he loved making them blush with sweet words.

A year younger than his fellow squire, Hamon too had found himself on the receiving end of an increasing popularity with Avalon's maids. He was extremely affable, with a ready laugh and a constant smile whose guileless face seemed to encourage immediate trust. Both boys had admitted to Godric that they had some experience in the pleasures that intimacy with a woman could bring. But whilst many of Hamon's boasts were extravagant and easily discounted, Salazar's comments were understated. Only once had he openly boasted of his exploits and that was when he had admitted that he had used Ella's services, much to Hamon's irritation

Hamon had scowled and scoffed at Salazar's assertion. Salazar had merely smirked, knowing that Hamon held a heartfelt torch for Avalon's resident whore and that his silence would irk his friend more than any words could. Hamon had brooded moodily before his curiosity got the better of him,

'What was it like?'

'Brilliant,' Salazar had grinned before Hamon had insisted on hearing every detail, much to Godric's amusement. At fourteen, Godric held no interest in experiencing this kind of relationship yet. Not that he wasn't interested, as he could appreciate a pretty face, often turning red when his voice would break or stutter like an idiot if Ella or one of Avalon's maids flashed him a smile. It was just that Godric's preoccupation with becoming a knight bested any other desire he felt. Besides, in Godric's eyes, his attractiveness paled in comparison with the likes of Hamon and Salazar. Although he had come far from the sickly child he had once been, he couldn't seem to stop growing and he had yet to adapt to gangly limbs which rendered his movements awkward. Ultimately, his child-like eagerness to pursue other past-times had highlighted the age gap between the squires and caused contention within the trio.

This was especially evident between Godric and Salazar.

Hamon shared Godric's desire to become a knight and as a Muggle he was expected to follow in his father's footsteps. As such, he could sympathise with Godric's readiness to constantly practice his swordplay. Salazar had no such desire. Although he was a proficient swordsman, he found it dull, time-consuming work and preferred to concentrate on his magical gifts rather than the skills which may keep him alive if he was ever to lose his wand. He believed that learning to master Muggle weapons was a demeaning task for a wizard, although he had only admitted this belief to Godric. This put him at direct loggerheads with Alain's youngest squire.

This came to a head when Godric had approached Salazar whilst the older squire was flirting with three of Morwenna's handmaidens. Hamon couldn't be found and eager to practice what he had recently learned in the tiltyard, Godric had hoped Salazar would entertain him as his friend had earlier promised. Salazar had been impressing the girls by juggling spinning marbles using wandless magic. Godric's boisterous interruption had caused Salazar to lose his focus, the marbles dropping to the floor with a clatter,

'What do you want?' Salazar said irritably, scarcely glancing at him,

'You promised to spar with me,' Godric said, completely oblivious to Salazar's rising irritation,

'I'll do it later,' Salazar said dismissively. Godric frowned,

'When? We've got chores to do later.'

'Then we'll have to miss it,'

'But…'

'For Merlin's sake, just piss off Godric,' Salazar finally hissed. Godric stood unmoving, shocked by Salazar's anger. When he didn't move, Salazar feature's twisted into a mocking smile, 'why don't you act like a good little boy and go and polish your sword.'

He spoke slowly as if he addressed a fool rather than a friend. The handmaidens instantly descended into a chorus of knowing giggles at Salazar's innuendo and instantly sided with the handsome Salazar over the bumbling Godric. Godric had felt his face burning with humiliation he hadn't felt since his years in Black-Hollow. Salazar had already turned his back on him, dismissing him without a word, as if he was a mere servant. Godric had been furious, but he had forced down the violent impulse to throttle his friend. He had glared daggers into Salazar's back, before turning swiftly away from the fresh titters and adoring gasps of the handmaidens as they marvelled at Salazar's showboating display of magic.

It wasn't in Godric's name to hold a grudge. However, he found the ease in which Salazar had insulted him hard to accept. Weeks had passed without a word being passed between them and although Salazar had half-heartedly attempted to rebuild the bridges between them, Godric had ignored his attempts at peace-making. Their behaviour did not go unnoticed. Hamon was visibly frustrated with both of them, Alain was nonplussed and no one was more persistent in their efforts to try and determine what had happened to turn Salazar and Godric's relationship so sour than the Lady Morwenna.

Yet, no details were forthcoming and no attempts to bring them together worked. For weeks, Godric, usually the most cheerful of all the residents in Avalon, had become sullen as he brooded on how best to exact some revenge; some way of making Salazar feel the same humiliation that he had experienced.

Godric stuffed a meagre meal into his mouth and hastily sprinted over to the tiltyard, where Alain's retainers were gathering in preparation for their daily practice. He reached Hugh, who greeted him by nodding at a bundle of polished practice-swords, blunted blades dulled with enchantments to avoid fatalities, but which were still capable of severe bruising and breaking bones. As Godric began stretching in preparation for the day's trials, he passed a group of giggling maids, who were all staring at Salazar with wonder.

Godric rolled his eyes. This group of maids had become a recurring audience, especially when Salazar was attending their training bouts. Surprisingly even more of Avalon's household were gathered about the tiltyard, including Ella, who was listening patiently to Hamon's blustering attempts to flirt with her and who sent Godric a flirtatious wink over Hamon's shoulder. Godric ignored it, his mind fixed on the task at hand as he took his place opposite Salazar, who was busy flamboyantly entertaining his admiring audience. Godric froze as his eyes bore into Salazar with an intensity, causing Hugh, who as always watched on with a mentoring eye from the tiltyard's boundary, to raise a questioning eye in his direction.

Finally, Salazar readied himself opposite the younger squire. Hugh hesitated as he raised his hand high, feeling a faint flicker on unease at the palpable tension between the squires. Then after the briefest pause, he brought his arm down, signalling with a shout for the bout to begin. Godric was moving before Hugh's arm had even finished its descent.

Every day for two years, Avalon's castellan had put Godric through a punishing regime. He had practiced hour after hour, slowly mastering an expertise in a range of weaponry. With the discovery that he was ambidextrous, Hugh had pushed him even harder, honing Godric's instincts through backbreaking drills. Combined with Godric's unwavering commitment to accomplish every challenge Hugh had thrown at him, the young squire was being shaped into a formidable fighter despite his age. Alain's narrow escape from the clutches of death, as well as his thirst for revenge on Bellême, had encouraged Godric's efforts further.

Yet, it was Salazar's taunting behaviour which had spurred Godric to force his body beyond its usual limits. Every available moment was spent with a sword in his hand, practicing the sword-dance and conditioning his body to use the weight and balance of the blade to his own advantage. His behaviour may have become awkward and his movements jilted since his growth spurt, but with a sword in his hand, he was both elegant and poised. There was a reason why only Hugh, Alain and Bayard of all those in Avalon could still defeat Godric with a sword. Hamon could hold his own well enough and was turning into a formidable swordsman, but even he found it impossible to break past Godric's impenetrable defence or withstand the younger boy's ferocity in attack. If Salazar hadn't gone to such lengths to purposefully avoid weapons-training at every given opportunity, then he may have anticipated what was to come as Godric charged towards him with a sword twirling in his hand.

Salazar's eyes barely had time to register the speed in which Godric wielded the sword or the vicious intent which burned in his eyes. He managed to parry once, twice, then felt a thundering blow strike his stomach. The force of it sent him crashing to the ground, groaning as the wind was driven out of him. Even when clad in a thick gambeson, Salazar could expect to have a vivid welt across his body where Godric's blow had landed.

Instead of pressing his advantage, Godric simply stepped away and waited for Salazar to regain his feet. He wasn't smiling, remaining tense and eager to go again. Gritting his teeth in anger, Salazar lurched to his feet, his mind now solely fixated on teaching Godric a much-needed lesson in how to respect his elders. This time, when Hugh roared for them to spar again, it was Salazar who leapt forward first.

Godric danced aside, avoiding each of Salazar's blow before sidestepping a brutal thrust. Twisting his wrist, his sword gently nudged Salazar's own away. The older squire stumbled as he overstretched and Godric, using his momentum to bring the sword around his head and drive it down upon Salazar's back before his opponent could recover.

Salazar yelled out in pain as the blunted blade crashed down on his shoulders, driving his face into the mud. The audience had descended into silence. There were no whistles of encouragement from Salazar's admirers, whilst Hamon and the rest of Alain's retinue were watching on with gaping mouths. Even Hugh seemed mildly surprised by this exhibition of ruthless dominance and humiliation. When Salazar clambered to his feet uncertainly and cleared his vision of the clogging mud, he found Godric once again refusing to press his advantage. Only this time, a satisfied smirk flickered in the corner of his mouth.

Salazar saw red. He leapt forward with a snarl. The savagery of his attack forced Godric to meet them with his own. They exchanged a quick flurry of blows and Salazar was astonished to see that whilst Godric was on the defensive, he seemed perfectly at ease with it. Whenever Salazar pressed him, Godric parried it; when Salazar hacked out then Godric would dance easily away. The older squire couldn't seem to land a blow until finally, his frustrations overwhelmed him, and he hacked out wildly.

Godric ducked, his sword already answering. Salazar yelled out in pain as the blade struck his knee, forcing the limb to collapse beneath him. He tried to keep Godric at bay with a desperate swipe, but the younger boy avoided it and delivered a bruising blow which sent Salazar crashing to the ground in an undignified heap.

Their audience looked on in shock. The young, bumbling Godric had dominated this fight. Salazar lay groaning in the mud, his body aching from Godric's blows, as the younger squire bent down and muttered quietly,

'Maybe you should spend a little more time polishing your sword!'

Perhaps it was the result of being beaten so ruthlessly by some boy two years his junior, or maybe it was the humiliation of it all being witnessed by so many people. Even Rhyannon had seen it, for she watched on with wide, disbelieving eyes. Something suddenly snapped inside Salazar. As Godric began to walk away, Salazar shouted out with fury,

'Mudblood!' The echo of Salazar's voice rebounded off Avalon's walls as everyone fell silent. Godric turned and frowned at his opponent,

'What?' he asked in confusion, unfamiliar with the phrase. However, he heard the insult in Salazar's tone and his own rage began to stir,

'Salazar!' Hugh roared, sounding suddenly furious. Salazar ignored him, glaring at Godric as he struggled to his feet,

'You heard me,' the squire wheezed, still struggling for breath 'that's what we call wizards like you. Fucking Mudbloods!'

Godric remembered little of what followed. He didn't understand what Salazar had said, but he recognised it as an insult from the sneer on Salazar's face. This wasn't just some petty slur spoken in the heat of the moment. It was personal and intended to hurt. Godric snapped and he felt his rage, bottled up and channelled for so long into his martial pursuits, suddenly roared like a wild beast. He couldn't remember dropping his sword and charging forwards like an enraged bull; couldn't remember the sting of Salazar's spell as the older squire managed to pull out his wand and send a crackling hex which sliced across his cheek. He barely realised he had batted away Salazar's outstretched hand, knocking the wand from his grasp. His other hand was already flying forwards with a hammering blow that sent Salazar spinning as their bodies collided and Godric tackled him. They landed heavily, struggling for supremacy. Godric felt Salazar's fist strike his face and a foot kick out at his torso, but the younger boy shrugged the blow off and hammered his fist into Salazar's face for a second time, stunning his opponent instantly with the strength of it.

Godric's broad frame and hard-won strength earned him an immediate advantage over the lean Salazar and for once, he did not hesitate. He was blind to all but his fury, his control completely evaporating. Blow after blow rained down on Salazar. Yet, Godric was dimly aware of screaming and shouting, of hands grappling with his shoulders in a futile attempt to pull him away from the unfortunate Salazar. Godric was gone, all reason having fled and reacting purely on an all-encompassing instinct which could only be sated with blood.

Then a fist collided with his face. The crunching blow flung Godric away, finally dislodging him from Salazar's bruised and battered body. Godric recovered quickly, rearing up and ready to leap at his attacker. But two pairs of strong arms enveloped him, dragging him away. Godric fought against them, spitting and screaming to be released until a powerful punch to the stomach floored him, sending him choking and gasping to his knees.

Sense slowly returned to his clouded mind. Lifting his head, he was stunned at the scene. He was being held firmly by both Hamon and Bayard. Hamon's eyes were wide with shock, unable to comprehend what had happened, whilst Bayard's was uncharacteristically grim. Neither met his gaze. A crowd had gathered around Salazar, whose lay in a state of semi-consciousness, groaning in misery. He was a mess. His handsome face was already swelling and coated with blood. The maids stood nearby, staring in horror as tears streamed down their faces. Isolde was kneeling over him, checking over his wounds sternly. Amidst it all stood Hugh, looking thunderous. Godric had never seen Troll-Bane this angry,

'Take care of that,' he growled at Isolde, gesturing at Salazar's moaning form. He barely spared Godric a glance. The younger boy felt sick as a wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm him at the look in his mentor's eyes; disappointment. He barely heard Hugh order his son to carry Godric away.

The journey to the stables was spent in silence. Only the rustle of Avalon's horses and disgruntled barks and hoots of the other beasts in Alain's possession disturbed the peace. For a long time, both boys were willing to break the silence. Godric was still in a dark mood, content to examine his bruised knuckles where small flickers of blood had escaped his split skin. Hamon looked lost, although the repeated glances in Godric's direction showed how unsure he was that the violent rage which had consumed his friend had fully abated.

'I'm calm, Hamon,' Godric finally mumbled, feeling drained and irritated by Hamon's concern,

'Are you sure?' Hamon asked, looking unconvinced. When Godric reassured the older boy, Hamon sighed and did not hide his relief,

'Thank, God,' he said, watching Godric closely, 'what the hell was that?'

'What the hell was what?'

'Don't be a dick,' Hamon said surprisingly harshly, 'I've never seen you, or anyone, act like that. You went berserk. You just beat the living shit out of Sal.'

'Bastard deserved it, he humiliated me,' replied Godric dully, 'in front of the maids…'

'So, you humiliated him in front of us all?' asked Hamon, 'Christ Godric, you know how much thinking Salazar's being doing with his prick lately. Did it really warrant that?'

'Yes…no…I don't know!'

'You better figure it out before my father finds you,' Hamon sighed again, shaking his head, 'Look, I know Salazar. I know what an arrogant and infuriating bastard he can be, and he must have done something to have warranted bringing that out of you. But to humiliate him like that, it was pretty ruthless.'

'What does it mean?' Godric interrupted, 'Mudblood?'

Hamon fell silent. When no answer came, Godric looked over to find the Muggle looking troubled. Hamon shrugged uncomfortably,

'I don't know much,' he admitted, 'but I've heard it before. I don't know exactly what it means, only that it's a wizard's insult. Something about having dirty blood.'

'Dirty blood?'

'I think it's an insult for a wizard whose blood isn't considered pure. A wizard whose parents weren't wizards.'

'So, it's an insult for a wizard like me?' Hamon shrugged exasperatedly.

'I don't know Godric,' he exclaimed, 'remember that I'm a Muggle. For God's sake, I can barely understand what wizards do.'

'Why would Salazar say that?' Godric asked, ignoring him. Hamon watched him as if he was stupid.

'Can't you see that he's jealous?'

'Jealous?' Godric remained incredulously. Hamon nodded sagely,

'He's always been jealous,' Hamon confirmed, 'ever since you came here. He hides it well and I suspect it makes him feel guilty, how envious you make him. You're like a brother to him, hell, we're all brothers…'

'But…what?' Godric was still astounded by the revelation. Hamon rolled his eyes,

'Look at it from Sal's point of view,' explained Hamon, 'before you arrived at Avalon, Salazar was the golden boy. The intelligent and good-looking apprentice to the Lord of Avalon. Let's face it, he's capable when it comes to magic. Then suddenly here you are. Small, weak, untrained, pathetic.'

'But, you're already powerful, a child two years Salazar's junior who somehow managed to conjure up a wave of magic which put one of the most infamous wizards in the kingdom on his arse and that was before you knew anything of magic. Since then, you've gone from strength to strength. I mean, you're not as good as me, I'm a delight. Yet, you're practically a different person from the one who came here. So, there's Sal, who's green with envy at your potential but still can't bring himself to hate you. You're rather likable.'

'I still don't understand it?' stuttered Godric,

'I can,' Hamon admitted sadly, although the fond smile never left his face, 'I can understand how jealous you make him. Hell, I'm jealous of the both of you for having a power that I can only hope to comprehend and will never possess. But I'm content with my lot. Salazar can be a dick and he will have hated what you've just done. Yet, for all his faults, he's loyal and a good friend. Give him some space, then let him come to you because he will do. One day soon he'll come, and it'll be with an apology rather than a wand.'

He suddenly laughed, looking mischievous as he clapped the younger squire on the shoulder,

'Certainly won't be with a sword,' Hamon joked, 'not after that. Carry on like this and you might be mistaken for me. Well, a scrawny, red-headed and bloody uglier version anyway…'

Godric would never admit it to his face, but Hamon was right. It took two days before Salazar summoned the courage to approach him. During that time, the boys had gone to great lengths to avoid each other. Godric's hand ached constantly and his split knuckles were almost always covered in a healing salve to ward against infection. The cut on his face, the result of Salazar's hex, stung constantly and an ugly bruise blemished one eye. Salazar looked worse, judging by the glimpses Godric had seen as Salazar trudged sullenly around the keep with a face covered in a myriad of bruises, swellings, and cuts.

Godric hated it. Almost overnight, his life at Avalon had turned into a nightmare reminiscent of his memories of Black-Hollow. People avoided him and appeared cautious in his presence, as if one careless word could send him into a berserk rage. Few had spoken to him since the fight. One memorable moment came when Alain and Morwenna had summoned him to their private chamber to covertly condemn his actions and punish him accordingly. Godric had taken the punishment without comment. In fact, he had barely spoken to anyone. The anger and disappointment which had shone from Alain and Morwenna's eyes had bitten deep, fuelling a wave of self-loathing which had thrown him into a bleak depression. Hamon had tried to put it in perspective, informing him that their anger at Godric was nothing compared to the fury they had unleashed on Salazar, but Godric didn't care. He felt as if he had betrayed their trust. Not even the knowledge that Hugh had spoken up in his defence seemed to ease the young boy's grief.

It was late when Salazar finally found him. Godric was wedged into a small crack behind the statue of Bedwyr, Arthur's famous one-handed warrior. This was a place where Godric could seek solitude and a moment's peace away from the bustle of Avalon's great hall. Only Salazar and Hamon knew of its existence.

Salazar didn't say anything for a long time, even after he had shifted into a comfortable position. Godric just stared at him, noticing how the moonlight put the beating he had unleashed on the unfortunate squire into sharp relief. Godric forced down the wave of guilt which threatened to choke him. Salazar, usually so confident and assured, seemed to wilt under the red-head's piercing gaze.

In the end, it was up to Godric to break the uneasy silence,

'I know what Mudblood means. Do you really think my blood is not pure?' Finally, Salazar met Godric's accusation in surprise. He opened his mouth, closed it again quickly, then shook his head and sighed heavily,

'No,' he said earnestly, averting his eyes again, 'of course not. I've witnessed the power you possess and you're Lord Alain's nephew. No one can deny your magical heritage.

'Then why did you say it?'

'I don't know,' Salazar admitted with a shrug. Godric waited a moment, but when Salazar remained unforthcoming with his response, he felt the familiar stirring of frustration,

'Are you jealous of me?'

'What? Of course not!'

'Hamon thinks you are,' he said with brutal honesty. It worked, as Salazar glanced at him sharply,

'Hamon's got a loose tongue.'

'Is he right?'

'Is he ever?' Salazar countered waspishly, 'what do you want me to say?'

'Just tell me the truth!'

'Then yes,' Salazar suddenly cried, 'yes, I do envy you. How can I not compare us, when everyone adores you? You're the pride of Avalon!'

'What are you talking about?' Godric said in bewilderment at the older boys claim.

'Everyone considers you the good one; the one with power and potential. Look what you managed when you faced Bellême.'

'Are you mad?' Godric exclaimed, 'I survived that encounter through sheer luck and you know it! Or can you not remember the part you played that day?' Salazar shook his head angrily, ignoring Godric's attempt at reasoning with him.

'Besides, you are blood-related to Lord Alain…'

'Blood doesn't mean anything!'

'You're wrong,' Salazar snapped, 'you are so naive when it comes to our customs. Blood is everything!'

The boys glared at each other.

'Salazar,' Godric growled slowly, trying to calm is rising frustration, 'being Alain's nephew is not important. Surely, you know that Alain and Morwenna have treated us equally like sons. Over the last few years, Avalon has felt more like a home to me than all my years at Black-Hollow. Don't you see that this household is our family?'

'Don't talk to me about family', Salazar muttered brusquely, breaking the stony silence, which had met Godric's appeal. Godric stared at him,

'Why?' he asked slowly, knowing that he was breaking an untold agreement. Salazar had never mentioned his family or shared any details of his life before he came to Avalon. It was an unspoken agreement between them. Godric never talked about the loved ones who had been taken from him or the abuse he had suffered at his father's hands, whilst Hamon never mentioned his own mother, although Godric wasn't even sure if his friend knew much about the woman who had given birth to him. Still, details concerning these bitter subjects could be guessed or easily assumed. The same couldn't be said for Salazar, who guarded the secrecy of his past closely.

'What are you scared of?'

'Because they're dead!' Salazar suddenly cried. Then in a defeated voice, 'my family are dead.'

Godric just stared at his friend, his face paling.

'What happened?' he blurted out, then cursed his own idiocy, 'I'm sorry.'

'No,' Salazar interrupted him. He sighed, rubbing his face tiredly, 'it's about time you knew.'

'Look, Sal, if you don't…'

'Its fine,' Salazar said, 'I'm what wizards call a Pureblood, as I come from a long line of wizards. The Slytherin's were Iberian, descendants of the great wizard Atlantes, Lord of Illusions. We were once a powerful family and held in high esteem by the people. Then the Muggles, fearing our magic, turned against us. My ancestors fled from the persecution and settled in Flanders, where I was born. It was a prosperous place, one of their merchant towns. My father was a likeable man and became rich from helping others with his magic. My mother was a Flemish witch and the envy of the town; a jewel. My cousins all lived with us and we practised our magic openly, free of the persecution we had suffered in Spain. They were good days.'

'But Muggles are quick to hate,' Salazar spat viciously, 'you know as well as I do that not all Muggles are as good-natured as Hamon. It began with a disappearance. A young boy went missing and rumours abounded. At first, the Jews were blamed, as they often are by Christians. Then the boy was found, murdered, near our home. The good-feeling of our friends and neighbours suddenly turned venomous. I can remember my grandfather trying to persuade father to put up protective wards. He'd seen this prejudice before, experienced the same fears as a boy.

'But father didn't listen, insisting that his lifelong friends would not be turned against him by the lies of lesser men. Then my family was accused of the murder. It began with insults and slander. I remember one day, my mother returned from visiting the markets, battered and filthy. The townsfolk had thrown filth and stones at her before chasing her away. She begged my father to abandon the town, but he was a proud man and refused. I…I've hated him ever since, hated his naivety and indecision.'

Salazar suddenly sobbed and Godric realised that tears were escaping from his friend's tightly shut eyes.

'One night the townsfolk rose up,' the youth stuttered on, 'they came bearing torches and burst into the house before my father could reach his wand and dragged him outside. I can still hear my mother's screams as they butchered him. They robbed the house of riches, seized and broke our wands, then put it to the flame with my family still inside. It still haunts me, the screams of my family; my mother, as the fires consumed them.'

'How did you escape?'

'I wasn't there when the townsfolk attacked. When I was ten, I used to run errands for a merchant, a friend of my grandfathers who remained aloof from the zealous prejudices of others. I was returning home late when it all happened.'

'The thing which really haunts me,' Salazar admitted brokenly, 'is that I should have helped. Instead, I hid. I allowed fear to rule me. It paralysed me as the fires flared and died, leaving nothing but charred ashes and bones. I tried to salvage all I could once the townsfolk had dispersed. I only found a single heirloom, my mother's silver locket, unblemished and emblazoned with my family's emblem of a snake. I'll show it to you later; its value to me is greater than any king's ransom.'

'Shit,' Godric breathed, shaking his head. It was an insufficient response and he knew it. How does a friend respond appropriately to a tragedy as brutal as the one Salazar had experienced? He had also suffered from persecution, but as loath as he was to admit it, his father's presence had shielded him from the worst of it and Avalon's kaleidoscopic household was as far removed from Salazar's childhood experiences as could be. Godric couldn't even consider what Salazar had seen, or contemplate facing such brutal violence. The sound of his own mother's agonised screams as she died on a bed of blood in Black-Hollows birthing chamber flashed through his mind and he felt an overwhelming sense of pity for his friend. He wrapped his arm around Salazar's shoulder to comfort him.

'I'm sorry,' Godric said earnestly,

'It's not your fault,' Salazar said, wiping his eyes, 'it was the townsfolk who did it, not you.'

'You know that not all Muggle's are like that,'

'I know,' whispered Salazar softly. It was true, as you only had to look at Muggles like Hugh and Hamon to see the honour in their kind.

'How did you escape?' Godric repeated,

'My grandfather's friend,' said Salazar, 'the merchant. He hid me amongst in his warehouses, then aided my escape aboard an old English wool merchants ship. I remembered how my mother had wished to flee to Britain, believing a better life was to be had for wizards here. Once I reached a coastal port I walked the long road to London. I lived in the filth of the river-bed and stole to survive, using my ability to speak to snakes and wandless magic to aid me. Lord Alain discovered me there. He caught me as I tried to steal a purse from Hugh's belt.'

Despite the tragic nature of Salazar's tale, Godric couldn't help but laugh. The idea that a small child had tried to rob the towering Hugh was absurd.

'I'm surprised he'd didn't break your hand,'

'He tried to strangle me,' Salazar chuckled ruefully, 'but Alain stunned me before I could flee. When I woke, I thought I'd suffer the penalty. Society doesn't suffer thieves lightly, even in the magical world. Instead, I found myself apprenticed to the Lord of Avalon and was accepted into his household.'

He paused and looked at Godric,

'I'm sorry,' he said honestly, 'for what I said. Your blood is as noble as mine. Seeing the disappointment in Alain's eyes, in the eyes of the man whose intervention saved my life; it made me realise the folly of my words, my actions, and my beliefs. I know that I can be arrogant, vain and a bastard at times. I know that I don't trust Muggles as readily as you and probably never will. I just don't want to be like that boy again, poor and alone. Over the last few months, I've put my own arrogance before my brother. Will you forgive me?'

Godric answered with a smile,

'All is forgiven,' he replied readily, 'you think too much. For what it's worth, I'm sorry also. I didn't know what I was doing, didn't realise I can do what I did, especially to a brother. I went too far; will you forgive me for it?'

'Merlin, your nobility is insufferable,' Salazar joked, rolling his eyes and thumping Godric lightly on the arm. He winced at the movement, his body still sore and aching from Godric's beating, 'you pack quite the punch, I'll give you that.'

'Sorry,' Godric replied sheepishly, 'Hamon said the same. He also told me you'd come to me to apologise. He's wiser than he lets on.'

'Hamon's about as wise as a donkey's fart,' smiled Salazar, making Godric laugh. It felt good, as though the fissures in their bond were already mending, 'we'll just not tell him about it. I refuse to stoke his ego. Can we just say I beat the shit out of you until you apologised, seeing as you did such a decent job at destroying my reputation as a young paladin.'

The feast of Samhain marked the night when the boundaries between the mortal realm and the otherworld became one. Pagan legend said that the spirits and souls of the dead once again walked the earth, seeking out the hospitality of their kinsmen. Also active were the fairy folk, bringing mischief to unsuspecting people, whilst offerings to dissuade any mischief and ward against wayward spirits were left in the shadows. Huge bonfires burned in Avalon's bailey, beacons which made the island's summit glow bright. The occasion was celebrated annually at Avalon with a great feast. The tables in the great hall were laden with succulent foods and abounded with the joyous merriment of Alain's household. Singing, dancing, and drunken cajoling filled the air.

Amidst the celebrating of Avalon's inhabitants stood Godric, smiling at the scene before him. He sat perched on one of the tables, slightly apart from most of the household who danced in the hall. On the high dais sat Alain, talking quietly to the travelling bard he had employed to supply music for the festivities. The bard was a good-natured wizard who hailed from Ireland and claimed to be related to great kings. Bayard had scoffed, claiming that holding the title of king in Ireland was nothing to boast of when their kingdoms were nothing more than rock-strewn, rain-drenched bogs filled with naked, scraggly-haired wretches, whose only redeeming virtue was their gift for producing beautiful women.

Godric assumed he was embellishing, but Bayard had spent many years as a mercenary and had fought in many lands beside his old comrade Hadrian. It was possible that the man had spent some time campaigning in Ireland. The Irish bard had been far from insulted, laughing cheerily before agreeing wholeheartedly with the uncouth brute, although he added that they knew how to wage war with the best of them. Bayard had nodded ruefully, as he still had the scars to show for it. Sitting beside the Lord of Avalon was the Irish bard's son, a little golden-haired boy called Finan, who was currently enraptured by the stories a doting Morwenna weaved for him. Godric smiled warmly at the sight of Lady of Avalon's delight in children and wandered why she had none to call her own.

Gathered around the lower tables were the rest of Avalon's household, where Ella's famous ale was doing the rounds. Hamon, having grown into a formidable young man in the same mould as his father, was gulping down a tankard of it in one hand whilst arm wrestling young Gervais to a chorus of hearty cheers from the watching crowd. Salazar had insisted on making up for their recent discord by spending time with Godric and had been hesitant to abandon him. But after watching the older boy repeatedly glance at Rhyannon, Godric had threatened to punch him again if he didn't respond to the handmaiden's attentions. Now, Salazar was stood in the shadows of the great hall in Rhyannon's company. His head was bent low, whispering softly in her ear. Godric was too far removed to hear what was said, but judging by the blush blooming on the young maid's face, it was far from innocent.

'You boys are growing up fast,' an amused voice interrupted his thoughts and Godric turned to find Ella approaching him. Her face was flushed from dancing and an alluring smile graced her face. She placed a hand on Godric's arm and eased herself onto the table beside him, 'you'll all be men soon'.

'Lady Ella,' Godric welcomed her pleasantly, although it was a little guarded. He was always uncomfortable in her presence and he felt his face heating up as her hand squeezed his arm. Salazar's boasts about Ella's sexual prowess seemed to be the only subject he could focus on. Judging by the amused smile on the whore's face, she knew exactly what effect she was having on the youth. She watched the romance blossoming in the hall's shadows.

'Ah, young love,' she said sardonically, 'they're both smitten, aren't they? It won't be long before the foolish girl lifts her skirts for him and lets his seed take root inside her.' She laughed at the prophecy.

'Salazar has more sense than that,' Godric defended his friend, but he didn't sound convincing. He hoped that Salazar had more sense, for he was convinced that Morwenna might castrate the young wizard if their romance was discovered.

'When it comes to their cocks, men have little sense,' Ella said sagely. She looked back at Godric, whose face was burning at her blunt assumption,

'I imagine you know by now that I have bedded Salazar?' she asked him. Godric gulped, finally nodding but unable to look the whore in the eye. She chuckled dryly, 'of course. I expected little else. Did you know that I have laid with every member of Lord Alain's retinue? After all, that is what I'm paid for. To satisfy their needs and ease their frustrations. Even Isolde is no stranger to my bed and I can promise you that it was a delightful experience. It won't be long until your other young friend's lust forces him to seek me out. Why shouldn't I entertain Hamon? I do enjoy watching his desperate attempts to woo me and he is a promising young man. I'd feel guilty continuing to torture him much longer.'

By this point, Godric could physically feel the heat radiating from his face. It was traditional for Ella to bait the younger members of Alain's household with her alluring nature. But she had always been somewhat reserved. Now, it was as if no barriers existed and Godric began to suspect that the potent ale being consumed was behind her loose tongue.

'Why are you telling me this?' Godric stuttered and Ella glanced at him piercingly.

'Do not pay heed to idle boasts. Never compare yourself to others. Your friend Salazar was as eager to please as any young buck I've mounted. But he still has much to learn before he becomes the master at pleasuring women that he believes he is,' she cast an admiring eye on Godric and chuckled again, 'Do not consider yourself lesser than your peers, Godric. Your pursuit to become a knight is a wonder to behold. You're nearly a man and I'd wager that you will surpass Hugh's size one day if you don't stop growing.'

'Did you know that my first lover was red haired?' When Godric shook his head, she smiled faintly, 'he was an honourable man and warrior of the old ways, like a hero from song. You often remind me of him, before he left me to pursue glory and met his death. When the time comes, we'll have to see what we can do about tainting that noble character of yours.' Godric gulped at the sly smile on the vixen's face and shuffled slightly to hide his growing excitement. She laughed delightedly at his reaction and leant in close,

'Lady,' Godric protested weakly,

'I saw how you beat down Slytherin's arrogance,' she crooned, 'and so effortlessly. Tell me Godric, do you think that animal inside you can use something else with the same talent you wield a sword? You'll find me as talented a mentor as Hugh and much more pleasurable…' Godric was rendered completely speechless and merely gaped as Ella leant in closer, her eyes flickering shut…

His hand, suddenly slick with sweat, slipped on the polished table-wood, knocking over his tankard of ale which toppled from its perch with a loud clunk. The noise was loud enough to disturb those closest to them. It also succeeded in breaking the strange spell Ella had cast on the young squire. Godric leapt up from the table, his reddened face quickly blending in with his hair. He turned to stutter a hasty excuse, only to find Ella bent over, her body wracked with laughter. He stared at her in consternation as she slowly recovered and looked at him fondly,

'Oh, Godric, you do amuse me,' she told him warmly, slapping his arm, 'alas, you're still too young, although I didn't lie and do not disregard my intentions. When the time is right, I hope that you will seek me out.'

Godric didn't know what to say, so he decided to keep his mouth shut to avoid looking even more foolish. Her eyes moved to look past his shoulder and her smile turned sly,

'The Lady of Avalon is watching us,' Ella noted wryly and Godric discovered that she was indeed. Morwenna, even though her attentions were still focused on the young Irish boy beside her, was indeed watching on, her eyes narrowed in a disapproving scowl. Her expression caused Ella to cackle mockingly, 'how she would hate it if I got my claws into you.'

Godric looked at the whore in surprise. For the first time, he noticed how flushed her face was and realised that her previous flirtatious actions must have been prompted by the ale she had brewed for the occasion. As Ella took a generous gulp from her goblet, she passed it to Godric, urging him to share the drink. Taking a sensible sip, Godric's curiosity finally overcame his tact,

'Why does Lady Morwenna hate you so much?' It was a question which he had wanted to ask for years. Ella shrugged in reply,

'Maybe she's jealous,' Ella suggested conspiratorially.

'Why would she be jealous?'

'You think a noblewoman can't be jealous of a humble whore?' Ella challenged him before she fell silent for a long moment, 'maybe it's because I can have what she cannot?'

Godric choked on his drink. Spluttering and coughing, he looked at Ella in astonishment.

'Fool, I don't mean you!' She laughed at him, 'even I would be surprised to discover if our noble Lady of Avalon held a flame for her husband's young nephew. No, she adores her husband so much that any other man simply pales in comparison.'

'Then what did you mean?' Again, Ella didn't immediately reply, simply plucking the goblet from his hand and throwing the remaining contents down her throat. Humming contently, she watched Morwenna for a long moment,

'She does like to play the mother, doesn't she?' Ella commented thoughtfully, as Morwenna continued to cast suspicious glances in their direction. Then her attention returned to Godric, 'Do you know much about children, Godric?'

'No,' he replied truthfully. He had little experience with children, even when he was a child and there were only a few children who lived in Avalon. The only child Godric could be considered close too was a young girl now growing up in Black-Hollow and he had never even met her.

All his father's boasts about siring a new son had come to nothing, as his young wife had given birth to a daughter. Tragically, she had died shortly after, her young body succumbing to the perils of childbirth. His new-born sister had been christened Eleanor, after her late mother. Godric hated the idea of another young child, born a disappointment, growing up in the shadow of his father's brooding temperament. Sadly, he still lacked the courage to openly confront his father, not yet anyway. Besides, news of his family's affairs was sparse and only one message had slipped through to bring news of Eleanor's birth. Godric had his suspicions about who had sent it; Siward had always been a loyal follower to his family, even disgraced scions like Godric.

Ella snorted, shaking her head.

'Of course, you don't; you're a man; what is a child to you other than a means of continuing your bloodline. Children!' She spat in contempt, 'I use potions and herbs to avoid pregnancy or to rid my body of them. Children are a blight on women. Never liked them. They burden you with a life of squealing and shit before they inevitably weaken and die…'

She paused for a moment, her eyes glazing over slightly. Godric, frowning, was just about to inquire if she was alright when she shook herself from her sudden stupor. Her eyes flickered to Godric, before looking away quickly. She looked vulnerable, a state Godric had never see her in before.

'Yet, unlike me,' she finally continued, 'Lady Morwenna has always longed-for children; especially a child with Alain. Like most women, she yearns for a child to call her own. But her belly remains smooth. It's as if a child won't quicken inside her, a human child anyway, being what she is…'

Godric frowned,

'What do you mean?' Avalon's whore glanced at him as if determining whether she had said too much before deciding to drunkenly throw caution to the wind. She was about to answer when a familiar growl disturbed their conversation.

'Ella!' They both turned to find Hugh looming over them, his arms crossed in disapproval.

'Hugh?' she answered innocently,

'Ella,' Avalon's castellan told her sternly, 'you've said enough!'

'Have I?' she asked petulantly, 'I was only revealing some home truths, he has the right to know…'

'He will know in time,' Hugh continued, 'but that is a tale for our Lord and Lady to tell. You've forgotten yourself and the oath you swore.'

'Really…'

'Leave Ella,' Hugh interrupted harshly, his gaze brooking no argument. Ella managed to hold it longer than most, before leaping up from the table and pressing the goblet into the castellan's hands with unnecessary force. She then headed straight for where Hamon sat drunkenly challenging all comers to test his wrestling prowess. Sitting on the youth's lap, she wrapped her arms around him, flattering him with her attention. As she blatantly seduced him, she threw one last dirty look in Hugh's direction. The castellan grunted at the challenge, although he remained unmoved. In Hugh's opinion, the boy was old enough to make his own choices, no matter how foolish they may be.

An awkward silence descended. Godric shifted uncomfortably as Hugh glanced at him. He had been avoiding the knight since the brawl in the tiltyard. Fortunately, sensing Godric's growing unease, the castellan turned his gaze towards Salazar, who still lurked in the hall's shadows. Alain's senior squire held Rhyannon in his arms and was kissing her tenderly, who was responding fervently to his touch.

'That boy has a death wish,' Hugh finally said coolly. 'Not surprised. Hot-blooded young nobles need a release. Do you have the same intentions to risk Morwenna's wrath?' Godric flushed, his thoughts briefly flickering to the memory of a raven-haired girl dancing in the dark, who had lately been a persistent feature in his dreams. The young squire looked away from Salazar, shaking his head mutely. Hugh nodded in approval,

'Good, then you'll have to find a different release,' Godric looked up as Hugh seated himself beside him. The castellan sighed,

'You're not alone. True, there's a monster inside of you. It yearns for blood, for a release against the chains that restrain it. But there is a beast in all men, even in me. We are all born with them. Yet, it is how we it that decides what men we are and will shape our fates. I've witnessed the worst that men can do when these monsters are unleashed; the savagery they are capable of. What you did to Salazar doesn't come close to what I have seen men do when the heat of battle or the cruelty of power takes hold.'

'What do I do if I can't control it? Godric mumbled quietly, 'will I commit the same atrocities?'

'I don't know,' Hugh shrugged, 'only time will tell. Men who give in to their rage, these berserks who willingly let their monstrous natures control them; they become nothing more than outcasts and vagabonds. They are also eventually killed, beaten by cleverer men who can keep their wits in battle. The troll I slew was the same, all fire and rage, but I was able to keep my head. Now I sit here, and troll's bones lay where they fell.'

'But it's still there; I can sense the rage…'

'I know you feel remorse for what you did. I'm glad you do. It'll help you to temper this fury. But don't ever ignore or fear it. Use it; for your anger is a part of you Godric; it lends you the strength to wield your sword and gives you the power to kill.'

'Kill?' Godric asked uneasily. He hadn't really considered taking a life before.

'Of course,' Hugh continued bluntly, 'you are almost fifteen and it is time to stop indulging your childhood fantasies. The life of a knight is not chivalric but brutal and harsh. You must stop idealising any fool with a horse and sword. Knights are not like the heroes of song; they don't go around in shining armour, slaying monsters and saving maidens. In real life, knights are men like us bastards. Men who are trained to kill, who can take a life with more ease than a priest lies. To be a knight is to accept that you will one day have to kill, whether it is for your liege lord, your friends or for your own life. Learn to control it and you wield it with more power than any other weapon; if you don't then you will never be a man, only a monster.'

'How will I know I can control it?' Godric asked his mentor, 'How will I be able to trust my restraint?'

'The test will come in battle,' Hugh reassured him, 'only then will you know. I did not know I could take a life until your uncle was threatened. Lord Alain and I have only survived this long because his wand and my sword have protected each other. I forsook everything to follow him, as you may do one day for your own friends. You're good. You may even be better than I was at your age.'

Godric stared at the man as if he'd grown another head,

'Are you drunk?' Godric inquired quizzically. The cuff he received was well worth it.

'Cheeky little bastard,' Hugh snorted uncharacteristically, 'you should respect your betters'.

Godric laughed, for a jest from Hugh was a rare thing.

'When will this test come?' Godric asked eventually, slowly sobering,

'It can't be far off now, with the world the way it is,' Hugh acknowledged. Avalon's castellan glanced at where Alain sat speaking with the Irish bard, 'Lord Alain has had news. His spies have reported that King Malcolm of the Scots is marshalling his armies. Rufus's ambitions are to destabilise his brother by making war in Normandy and the Scots are hoping to take advantage of his absence, as well as pleasing the English exiles in his court who clamour for revenge against those who disinherited them. The Irishman claims that his Gaelic brethren will invade the north soon and Lord Alain thinks the King will send him there in the hope that the Lord of Avalon's presence will persuade the wizards north of the border of their folly if they choose to get involved. He hopes that swords and wands will not be necessary, so you are to join us.'

Godric's head snapped up to stare at the castellan incredulously,

'What?' he exclaimed in disbelief, excitement overwhelming him.

'You're to join us on campaign,' Hugh confirmed, rolling his eyes at Godric's youthful enthusiasm, 'Hamon and Salazar too, if we can stop the latter from fucking himself into an early grave. It'll be good experience for you, seeing first-hand the rigors of such a life. It's likely you won't see much fighting and if we do encounter any, you're all to stay out of it. I'll be damned if I see some of the best I've ever trained gutted by a scraggly-haired barbarian with a pointed stick.'

Godric couldn't believe it. He was joining Lord Alain's retinue on a campaign. Finally, he would experience what life as a knight would entail; leaving Avalon to explore the kingdom. With the coming of spring, when warriors burst from their strongholds to raid the land, Godric would march to war.


	11. Chapter Ten: The North

**The North**

Spring 1091

'I hate this fucking place!' Bayard's brooding grumble broke the silence. The big man sniffed, wiping at his reddened, skin cracked nose, 'I really fucking hate it'.

'I'm sure it fucking hates you too, Bayard,' Hadrian retorted calmly. Bayard just grumbled as he scowled at the darkening sky. Grey clouds loomed thunderously over them, unleashing persistent showers of rain which had plagued them since their arrival. Godric, his scarlet cloak drenched, would have smiled if the weather hadn't been so miserable. However, the squire shared some of Bayard's sentiments about this forsaken place.

Experiencing his first taste of the outside world since coming to Avalon, Godric had been filled with wide-eyed wonder at the start of the campaign. The north was a wild place. A rugged and barren world of heather and moorland, for the north was a harsh and unforgiving place. It was a landscape dominated by dark hills, dissected by meandering river valleys and inhabited by hardy people. Once, the land had been cultivated, but the wilds had reclaimed some of it in recent years. As they followed Alain north, Godric had noticed the distinct lack of villages, although they passed enough skeletal remains of old homesteads long since reduced to barren shells to hint at a once thriving heritage. The locals kept to themselves or actively sought to avoid the presence of armed soldiers.

Godric had his suspicions that it wasn't just their presence or the nearby war waging to the north that put the locals on edge. Yet, when Godric had inquired further, he had been confronted with a stony silence from Alain's retainers that could not be breached. The three young squires had concluded that it had something to do with the Harrying, the wizarding war which had waged in the north over a score of years before. Godric still knew little of the Harrying, but understood that it had been a brutal year which had ravaged the northern shires. It had also scarred his uncle deeply, although clearly not as deeply as it had marked the northern landscape and its dower inhabitants.

'Fucking place,' Bayard muttered again before sneezing loudly. He received sympathetic glances from many of the company, as he wasn't the only one who had suffered during the campaign. Half of Alain's retinue had similar afflictions, for Gilbert's bowls had kept him up for much of the previous night. Whilst magic had kept the worst of the weather at bay, it could only do so much. They were at war after all.

In early spring, Rufus had received the news that Malcolm Canmore, the opportunist King of the Scots, had invaded the north, an act of aggression that the King was ready for due to Alain's network of spies. Rufus had been quarrelling with his elder brother in Normandy but had immediately rushed back to England when the news had reached him and demanding that his Grand Sorcerer attend him. With the coming of spring, an embittered war of raiding and pillaging descended on the north and Alain was needed to counter any support that the warlocks of Scotland may have offered their own King.

They had taken a portal to the borders of Yorkshire, appearing in a small glade within a heavily wooded river valley which ran beneath a looming rocky scar in the hillside. A local forester in Alain's employ greeted them. He led them to his nearby homestead, where fresh horses and supplies for all of Alain's retinue waited. The woodsman was a cheerful fellow, who had no qualms about helping wizards. He had shaken his head in amusement at Godric's enthusiasm and Hamon's boasts about the upcoming campaign, before passing on what news he had learned of the war through local gossip. His daughter, a cherub-like girl of twelve, had darted about the retinue, passing over bundles of nuts, wild berries and woodland creatures. To Godric's amusement, her eyes had repeatedly glanced at a darkly handsome young man. Salazar, equally amused by her behaviour, winked at the girl, causing her to blush and his companions to chuckle until Salazar received a hard clout about the head by an unimpressed Hugh. They had set off shortly after, following the long roads to the north as Salazar grumbled and cursed Hugh's name.

However, whilst muggle soldiers fought it out in the hilly countryside, Alain's company had seen no martial action. Instead, they found themselves on a windswept and rain drenched hillside, waiting patiently for the arrival of a delegation of Scottish warlocks to discuss the war unfolding around them. These wizards had been sent by their leader, Cinead of the Hallow-Hills, who sat upon the Great Council alongside Alain. The Lord of Avalon assured his retainers that Cinead had no reason to quarrel with him and would sue for peace, unless the young firebrands in his coterie were poisoning his ear with falsehoods and old hurts. This didn't reassure the retinue and weapons remained close at hand if the Scots broke the truce.

From their barren hillside, they could see the great Roman Wall in the far distance. An ancient fortification which had once marked the boundaries between wizards on either side of the border, it now lay crumbled and robbed of its former might. But the enchantments of the Roman mages were slow to die and the magic within the Wall would last for many more lifetimes. When Godric and his companions had investigated the ancient landmark, he could still sense the dormant magic radiating from the stone and had marvelled at the might of Rome.

'Does it do anything other than fucking rain here,' Bayard complained mulishly,

'If it saves us from your stink, Bayard, then we shall all be thankful,' Salazar commented dryly, fed up with the older man's constant grumbling. Bayard glowered at Salazar, but any reply was interrupted by a fierce fit of sneezing. Salazar laughed at him and was going to comment further until he caught Hugh's eye and fell silent at the wordless command.

'How much longer do we have to wait?' moaned Hamon, his patience running out. Godric shared his restlessness. In the eyes of Alain's squires, the absence of any fighting and the combined efforts of the dismal weather with the retinue's determination to test their mettle meant that campaigning had been an exhausting disappointment thus far.

'Patience, Hamon,' Alain responded with a calm smile, 'I doubt we'll have to wait too long.'

'We won't have to wait at all,' interjected Hugh, 'they're here.'

He nodded towards an ancient standing stone a little further down the hillside. Half consumed by a thick fog which clogged the valley floor, many didn't see what Hugh was indicating. With a faint crack, a group of hooded and cloaked figures popped into existence. They huddled together for a moment before one man pointed out Alain's retinue waiting at the hill's summit and the haggard group began to hurriedly make their way up the stony path. It didn't take long to realise that the recently arrived group were armed. Alain's retainers momentarily tensed, hand's reaching for weapons until Alain held up a hand.

'Peace, my friends,' he ordered them clearly, 'there will be no need for that.'

'How can you be sure?'

'They're not here for a fight,' Hugh indicated, 'they've brought youngsters with them.'

'That's a promising start,' Alain chuckled as he watched young boys darting between their elders. As the new arrivals reached the summit, Godric was given the opportunity to assess them. They were a haggard looking group, with their beards hanging loose and covered in leaves and bones. Their robes were garish and distinct blue tattoos marked their weathered skin. They eyed Alain's retinue with both suspicion and curiosity as Alain greeted them courteously. If any of these wild mages noticed the Lord of Avalon's pronounced limp, they didn't draw attention to it.

Over an hour passed as they exchanged pleasantries and gossip. Unlike Salazar, who eagerly absorbed every detail of the conversation, Godric soon grew bored. He wasn't the only one and he soon found himself in the company of an amiable young wizard called Edwin. He turned out to be of Saxon descent, whose father had been disinherited following the conquest and had fled to Scotland when the Harrying ravaged their homeland. Edwin had a sunny disposition and shared a friendly conversation with Godric,

'You're Saxon?' he asked, pleased at the surprising news,

'Half,' admitted Godric, 'I have a Saxon father and my mother was Norman.'

'No one's perfect,' Edwin said good-humouredly, 'I'm surprised to find a Saxon in the Lord of Avalon's retinue.'

'I'm his nephew,' Godric explained, noticing Edwin's brief grimace at the mention of Alain. Obliviously the events of the Harrying still rankled deeply with his family. Before Edwin could reply, his attentions were diverted by the antics of his younger brother, a small boy called Edgar, who was playing an over-excitable game of chase with the other children, leaving Godric to return to the negotiations being discussed.

Eventually, the talks stalled, and Alain generously persuaded the Scottish warlocks to share a meal with him. Godric was glad that he was surrounded by many wizards, although he avoided much of the unappealing cuisine that the Scottish mages dined upon. Even Hamon declined to try it and he was famed for his vast appetite.

As Godric sat and talked more with Edwin, he soon discovered that he had unwittingly gained the attention of a peculiar man who had accompanied the Scottish warlocks. He was short and wiry, with close-cropped dark hair and a jittery, excitable disposition. At first glance, his garments seemed to be expensively tailored, although closer scrutiny revealed how well-worn and frayed the night-blue cloak was along its edges. He greeted Godric with a charming smile as he scurried to meet him.

'Ah, one of the esteemed squires of Avalon we have heard so many rumours about,' the strange man said, beaming, 'I've heard you're the boy who put Bellême on his arse?'

'Urm…' Godric responded, unsure about how to respond to the man's genial, if excitable, demeanour. He eventually nodded reluctantly. The man's laughter boomed out, disturbing those close to them and causing Edwin to roll his eyes. The warlocks glared at their companions, before sharing exasperated looks. If the man noticed, he ignored it and clapped Godric on the shoulder,

'Good,' he laughed, 'the brutes a devil. I bet he hasn't forgiven you for that.'

'Aidan, you know what Bellême is like,' Alain interrupted evenly as he ate nearby. He absentmindedly scratched at the leg where Bellême's curse had savaged him, 'he's not a forgiving man'.

The Scot merely shrugged, his eyes never moving away from a squirming Godric,

'True enough. I was at Rufus's coronation; didn't see it mind, as I'd misplaced my invitation and the royal guards wouldn't let me into the cathedral. Also missed your little disagreement with Bellême. Shame, a great shame.' Godric didn't think his dealings with Bellême could really be described as a minor disagreement. After all, the infamous knight held a grudge to this day. However, before he could correct the stranger's assertion, the man was talking hurriedly again, 'though he is a powerful wizard from a very wealthy family. I tried to gain an audience with him once. Was going to suggest that he marries my Rowena, but alas, he'd only recently remarried.'

'You'd really sell your daughter to a man like Bellême?' Alain appeared astonished at the man's folly and revulsion dripped from his uncharacteristically unguarded tongue, 'Aidan, surely you have heard about the way he treats his wife?'

'Needs must,' Aidan defended himself, 'and besides, I'm sure the rumours are as embellished as rumours always are. He is a powerful and wealthy wizard from a proud and pure lineage.'

'Yet, one with evil vices,' Alain answered coolly, 'especially where women are concerned. I'd advise you to look elsewhere, for your daughter's sake'.

'Are you suggesting I look closer to your own hearth, Lord Alain,' Aidan said, his smile widening as he eyed Godric and Salazar keenly, not even bothering to grace Hamon with a glance. Godric was stunned. Was this man offering him a betrothal contract with his daughter? Sat beside Godric, Salazar visibly blanched at the talk of marriage and choked on a mouthful of his meal, paling considerably as he looked at Alain in wild desperation. Godric, although surprised by the man's audacity, remained unconcerned. Surely his uncle would deem them too young to be betrothed, as they were not yet at the age to face the Ritual and they hadn't been blooded in battle. To Godric's relief, Salazar and Hamon were both older and more likely to be settled with wives long before he was.

'Again, I'd advise you to look elsewhere,' Alain answered firmly, easing his squire's fears and Salazar sighed in relief. Aidan didn't appear displeased by Alain's firm rebuttal, remaining unabashedly persistent.

'Your squires are of marriageable age, Lord Alain,' the Scot pointed out, 'mine can't be the only offer you'll receive, especially with Lugnasadh looming?'

'You're the first,' Alain admitted dismissively, 'there's more than enough time for talk of marriage in the years to come. I'll let my squires enjoy their youth in peace; after all, we live in a harsh world where young men are forced to grow up quickly.'

'You can't hide them in Avalon forever, especially one related by blood,' Aidan gave Godric an eager look which caused the squire to shift uneasily, 'and my Rowena is a beautiful and very promising witch. A little too strident and wilful maybe, but with a firm hand, she would make a good and obedient wife.'

'She sounds spirited,' Godric suddenly said. Alain shot him a warning look, silently ordering him to hold his tongue and not to encourage Aidan's nonsensical wishful thinking. Aidan shook his head,

'Every mare has a few blemishes,'

'I didn't mean it as a criticism,' Godric muttered seriously.

'Not at all, not at all,' the Scottish warlock nodded, discarding his previous opinions easily and eager to agree as he sensed an opportunity.

'Aidan,' Alain interjected, drawing the man's attention back to the Lord of Avalon, 'your daughter sounds like a jewel and I'm sure in time all my boys will make worthy husbands. However, it is too early for such talk.'

This time, Alain's tone disparaged all arguments. Again, this didn't seem to bother Aidan. The excitable warlock waved off Alain's discouragement, the ever-present smile still on his lips.

'Another time perhaps,' Aidan suggested before returning to his meal, although he carried on casting thoughtful looks at Godric and Salazar. However, he couldn't stay silent for long.

'I've heard that Gofanon the Wise has been taken ill again?' Alain simply shrugged,

'Even the best amongst us sometimes fall ill.'

'Considering his age,' Aidan continued nonchalantly, 'it is a little more concerning.'

'Hardly,' Alain scoffed and Godric could tell that he was beginning to lose his patience with the irritating warlock, 'he's still a very powerful wizard.'

'I know that,' Aiden chuckled, 'there's a reason he's been head of the Council for over forty years. Yet, all great things come to an end eventually.'

'What are you suggesting?' Alain said, bristling and clearly disgruntled.

Aidan paused, as did most of his companions. Alain's voice was sharp, and his eyes flashed with rising anger. The warlocks from Cinead's delegation cast furious looks at the foolish Aidan for seemingly angering the Lord of Avalon, who for once seemed to recognise his folly.

'Gofanon is a good friend,' Aiden spluttered placatingly, 'and he's famous for being a peacemaker on the Council and his Welsh kin will not falter in their loyalty to him. But he grows old; for years now, he has been a buffer to rival factions, a calming balm on heated quarrels. We fear that if he dies, then it could lead to chaos again...'

'I will not let that happen.' Alain spoke firmly, his eyes unflinching.

'Lord,' one of Aidan's fierce companions stumbled on before Alain's displeasure, 'forgive me, for you are a noble wizard. Yet, you are only one man. Most know that you would not throw our world into chaos and bloodshed in a bid for power. But more dishonourable wizards may seek to take advantage…' The man stuttered momentarily before falling silent beneath Alain's withering glare.

'So,' the Lord of Avalon finally concluded slowly, 'you had no intention of aiding Canmore when you summoned me here. This is what you really intended?'

The Scottish warlocks exchanged nervous glances and shifted uneasily. It was young Edwin who summoned the courage to answer, his head held high in defiance.

'You are mistaken,' the young man said proudly, 'there are those amongst us who are loyal to our King and would have gladly lent their wands to his ambitions. Especially those of Saxon blood whose families were disinherited and forced into exile by Norman butchers…'

'I am the Lord of Avalon,' Alain suddenly snapped, shocking everyone with his fierceness. His steely gaze never left Edwin, 'you would do well to remember who you are speaking to, _boy_!'

Edwin remained steadfast and looked ready to remain defiant, until one of his companions placed a placating hand on his shoulder and urged the young man to back down. For a moment, it appeared Edwin would not heed the advice. However, he finally nodded unhappily and offered a stilted apology. Alain accepted it, although Godric knew that his uncle's grim expression hinted at the anger which remained simmering close at hand. Alain's fist was clenching and unclenching repeatedly as if it itched to hold a wand.

'Lord Alain,' Aidan spoke up again, shaking his head at Edwin, 'forgive our young friend. He is young and we all know that the Saxons are a tenacious lot. We only wish to extend an offer to an admired member of the Council.'

Alain still looked angry, but he quickly overcame it. Sighing deeply and running a hand through his greying fair hair, he gestured for Aidan to continue,

'Speak your peace,' he muttered courteously, 'although I already suspect what you are going to tell me.'

'The Seidr,' Aidan began immediately, 'are growing restless. They are eager to recover the power and influence they lost during the Harrying. They continuously raid our lands in the far north. There isn't a wizard amongst us who hasn't lost a loved one, seen our riches pillaged, our homes burned, or our wives and daughters raped by those savages.'

For once, the warlock appeared to be speaking seriously and his companions clearly supported his opinion. They growled their agreement, their hatred obvious.

'In these very hills, Lord Alain, you once singlehandedly defeated two of the Seidr's greatest champions and drove their warbands into the far reaches of Britain. There is no one the Seidr fear or loath more than Alain of Avalon. An alliance between us may stall their bloodthirsty motives and your presence may dissuade further raids entirely.'

Godric stared at his uncle. He had long suspected that Alain had a darker past. A wizard certainly needed one to survive in the fractured world of magical politics. But to hear of Alain's infamous reputation from others, a reputation built on fear, hatred and violence, was unnerving and contradictory to the image of the softly spoken and fair man who had introduced Godric to the magical world.

It took Alain a long time to decide on a reply.

'No,' he said cordially, 'I will not intervene.'

'Lord,' many voices cried out, but Alain stilled them with a raised hand,

'Friends, please, let me speak my piece,' Alain directed his gaze to Aiden, 'I am no fool. I'm aware of the squabbles and feuds which are fought in the far north. I know that your warlocks raid Seidr land with as much frequency as they do yours. Do you forget that I am the Grand Sorcerer to the King of England, not the King of the Scots. I don't deny that I share a violent history with the Seidr. Anyone who survived the Harrying knows it. But I will not lead my retinue to war because of your feuds. If you require aid, then you must call on the Wizengamot.'

The Scottish warlocks tried to argue further, claiming that the Lord of Avalon's intervention was crucial. However, Alain remained steadfast and refused to budge from his position. Soon realising that their efforts to move Alain were in vain, the Scots stopped trying to persuade him, although it took Aidan far longer to come to term with this.

Once the warlocks realised the futility of their pleas, it didn't take long to conclude the meeting. Now that their real intentions had been discovered, the Scots didn't linger on the rain-drenched and windswept hillside. The heavily cloaked company of Scottish wizards soon left for their homes. However, before they left, Alain had managed to courteously extract a promise that they wouldn't join King Malcolm's efforts to destabilise Rufus's kingdom across the northern shires. Yet, Godric suspected that the young, hot-blooded men like Edwin, would soon be found amidst the ranks of their King's armies. One look at Alain told him that his uncle thought the same, but there was little Alain could do except counsel Rufus to be careful. Aidan was the last to leave, lingering long enough to say farewell to each member of Alain's retinue. His farewell to Godric and Salazar was especially prolonged, the possibility of securing a betrothal for his daughter, especially one with lucrative connections to the infamous riches of Avalon, was too tantalising for the warlock to ignore. But at last, even Aiden was persuaded to depart with his companions to the ancient standing stones. When the Scots had finally disappeared into the fog and vanished with a clamour, Godric turned to address his uncle,

'He was a strange man,' Godric commented lightly,

'He's a fool,' Salazar said rudely,

'I'd have to agree with Salazar,' Alain said tiredly, 'many call him Scatter-Brain and his foolishness is well known in magical circles. He's friendly and good-humoured enough, but also a fool of the most damning kind.'

'He seemed to like these two,' interjected Hamon, unable to resist smirking at his friends. He didn't seem at all bothered by Aidan's lack of interest in him, a mere Muggle, but rather amused with the warlock's bizarre antics.

'He would,' Alain acknowledged, 'they are apprenticed to the Lord of Avalon. Aidan has always been enamoured with the allure of prestige. He married into an ancient and very wealthy family. However, when his wife died young, he soon squandered his wealth on foolish ventures. He may dress in fine clothes, but magic can only go so far in masking his impoverishment and certainly can't forge real gold. I'm afraid he's obsessed with reclaiming the riches he lost.'

'He can look elsewhere,' Salazar shuddered, 'I'm not marrying his daughter.'

'Poor man,' Godric commented, then thought of the man's unfortunate daughter, 'and poor girl'.

'Mm,' Alain sighed sadly, 'she's a poor girl indeed to be lumbered with such a father; a man who measures her worth as nothing more than a bargaining piece and a means to reclaim his lost wealth. I fear she will suffer an unfulfilled life.'

With the talks were concluded, Alain saw little reason to linger in the north. He sent a messenger hawk to the King, informing the monarch that his mission had been successful and warning him that some of the younger firebrands may march against him. However, the King had enough wizards in his army to deal with them, so Alain would return to Avalon. Rufus didn't try to dissuade him. Already his forces were gaining the upper hand and he was already turning his ambitions across the sea to his brother's duchy.

The return to Avalon took days and was greeted with much pleasure by most of Alain's retinue. Even Alain's mood seemed to lighten the further south they journeyed. The North was a stark and hostile place and Godric knew that its untamed barrenness had been an unwanted reminder of Alain's days fighting in the Harrying. The Lord of Avalon had not been fond of returning there, the scene of his most infamous deeds.

However, Godric alone appeared to regret leaving the northern wilderness. He was oddly charmed by its rugged, untamed beauty. For three years he had been cooped up in Avalon and he longed to see more of the world. Worst of all, he couldn't deny the sense of bitter disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him. His first campaign had passed without a single battle in which to test his mettle like Hugh had promised. Whilst the usual cheerfulness of the retinue's fellowship slowly seeped back with every mile that took them away from the dreadful weather, Godric remained quiet and sullen.

They returned swiftly on magically enhanced horses, heading towards the same valley where they had arrived and aiming for the lonely homestead in the woods where the woodsman and his young daughter guarded the portkey in secrecy. As they entered the sleepy valley after days of travelling, they followed the small path which ran alongside the meandering river as it slipped past a tall scar cloaked in trees. Bright bluebells sprung from the bushes and thickets, granting the surrounding landscape an otherworldly aura.

Of all Alain's retainers, it was Hadrian, the kindest and most generous of all the soldiers under the Lord of Avalon's command, who decided to confront Godric about his recent gloom. It was rumoured that he came from the lands surrounding Constantinople, although his past and how he had come to England was shrouded in mystery. Only Bayard knew the full extent of it, for they had spent years fighting beside each other as mercenaries. Godric had always been astounded at how such a mild-mannered man could earn his keep as a soldier.

A small cough alerted Godric to Hadrian's presence and the squire turned to find the eastern wizard riding beside him with an amused smile,

'Don't be so eager to leap into battle,' the easterner said in his stilted French. Godric had the decency to look sheepish.

'I have dreamt of little else since I was a child!'

'It's not that long since you were one,' Hadrian chastised him gently, 'the young will always seek to enter a battle recklessly. It is why so many of them die.'

'Not if they're skilled enough with a blade,' Godric countered, remembering tales of heroic deeds and famous warrior fellowships, 'or have comrades who will stand at their shoulder until the last,'

'That is true,' Hadrian chuckled as he recognised Godric's use of one of Bayard's favoured lessons, 'and you're a born warrior, we all know that. However, luck is just as important. Any man can die in battle if their luck runs out,'

'Luck?' Godric scoffed disbelievingly, 'I'd rather put my trust in my own skills.'

'So would many others,' Hadrian advised, 'but a soldier will not reach their dotage if they're unlucky. Men like Bayard and me are old to war, are haunted by the near misses. The arrows which fell inches from our faces; the spells which exploded nearby, or the blades failed to pierce our flesh. If it hadn't been for luck, our lives could have been snatched away in an instant, regardless of our skill.'

Godric was surprised to discover that Hadrian was so old to war and he wandered how long the man had marched beside Bayard.

'Those of us who have served Lord Alain longest are glad this folly didn't come to war. We do not actively seek battle, or pursue the risky dance with death that all soldiers engage in, although lunatics like Bayard may. Do you think we dreamt of becoming soldiers? In my youth, I dreamt of being a sailor and exploring the great sea of my homeland. Isolde once wished to become a healer; Tancred a smith, whilst Gilbert and Gervais would have bred horses. Only dogs like Bayard dream of becoming soldiers…'

Bayard overheard his friend and howled like a hound, prompting laughter from his comrade.

'See,' Hadrian confirmed with a wide smile, 'we dream of hanging up our swords, or turning our wands to gentler uses.'

'Then why don't you?' Godric challenged, intrigued by Hadrian. He had assumed that most of Alain's retainers lived for the rush of battle, or were born fighters like Hugh and Bayard. To hear otherwise was almost sacrilege to his youthful beliefs.

'Because we love Alain,' Hadrian admitted honestly, as if it was obvious, 'when each of us had nothing, he found us and gave our lives a greater purpose. In return, we swore to protect him and when he marches to war, then so do we. There isn't one amongst us who wouldn't die for Lord Alain. One day, you will feel the same.'

'Then what will you do,' said Godric curiously, 'when Lord Alain hangs up his wand?'

The smile on Hadrian's face widened, although he shrugged unknowingly.

'I haven't given it much thought. Grow old in Avalon and find a good woman to share my bed. I may even return east to my homeland. I long to see the land of my birth again, to stand beneath the almond trees and watch the burning sun dancing on the Aegean.'

Hadrian's voice drifted off and he smiled wistfully as he looked up at the sky. Godric returned it as he visualised the exotic land Hadrian talked about. Who could deny feeling the desire to return to the place of their birth; to survive the hardships of life so that they could enjoy their remaining years in peace, surrounded by friends and loved ones as their life neared its inevitable end.

Godric gazed fondly at those around him. Salazar was laughing at a story Hamon was weaving and Bayard was busy promising an amused Isolde that he'd one day escape the awful British weather and retire to a brothel to enjoy the delights of wine and whores in the glaring sun of warmer lands. Even Hugh seemed to be unable to resist the comradery that flourished around him, judging by the contented smile on his face. Finally, Godric looked at Alain, who rode at the retinue's head. The Lord of Avalon smiled warmly as he eavesdropped on Godric's conversation, pleased to be returning home to an adoring wife in the company of loyal friends. Hadrian's wish was a romantic ideal, but one that fuelled the imaginations of all those who were listening.

From a nearby thicket, a crow squawked out a croaking cry, springing madly into flight in a flutter of feathers.

No one saw the arrow fly until it struck.


	12. Chapter Eleven: A Place for Slaughter

**A Place for Slaughter**

Godric had been told that time slows for those in peril. This was a mistake, for the fight began instantly. One moment, Hadrian was there, sitting astride his mount and smiling up at the sky as he reminisced about days gone by and basked in the fellowship of his comrades.

Then he was gone.

Godric felt the blood splatter across his face. He barely heard the cries of alarm rising around him. All he saw was Hadrian being thrown from his horse, the feathered shaft of an arrow lodged deep in the torn and bloody flesh which had once been his throat. Hadrian twitched, his hands clawing at the shaft protruding from his neck and blood spat from his mouth with each rasping breath, hissing through clenched teeth as his face contorted with agony. All Godric could do was stare, crippled with shock at the grisly sight.

War cries rang out and out of the trees leapt a wave of armed men, bursting from the trees and shattering the valley's tranquillity to charge towards the Lord of Avalon's retinue, weapons in their hands. Godric heard Hugh's voice roaring orders; the hiss of swords being unsheathed and the rustle of robes as wands were drawn. Yet still he remained motionless, staring at Hadrian as the stricken man thrashed and struggled beneath him.

Alain was struck in the same moment Hadrian was hit. A barbed arrow had embedded itself into his shoulder, breaching his mail shirt and pinning his heavy grey cloak to his torso, hindering his sword arm. He grunted in pain but was already drawing his wand. He swatted away a second arrow, but could do nothing to stop two more from thudding into his horse. The beast screamed and staggered before a flaming red spell struck its side. The horse collapsed beneath him, scattering mud and blood as it collapsed with its legs flailing wildly. Alain flung himself from the saddle as he fell and rolled away before his dying mount could crush him. Leaping to his feet, wand in his hand and the arrow still fixed in his shoulder, he turned to face the oncoming enemy,

'Avalon!'

The raised cry and his uncle's plight jolted Godric from his stupor, looking frantically at the chaos about him. He saw Bayard roar with rage and charge into the small ford to meet the rush of armed men who leapt at the retinue from all directions, cutting off any chance of escape. Isolde, the healer of the company, had leapt from her saddle and rushed to Hadrian's side. She blocked a falling arrow which would have skewed her stricken comrade, then sent a spell hurtling back with devastating accuracy, shattering a charging warrior's knee and sending him crashing down with a cry of agony. Then she was crouching beside Hadrian, urgently muttering spells to stem the gushing blood as Hadrian choked and arrows and spells pounded the shield she had cast around them. Gilbert and Gervais had spurred their horses forward and now protected the witch, their shields held high and lances levelled threateningly whilst Tancred dashed to join the growing chaos in the ford where a roaring Bayard was fighting with the ferocity of an enraged boar.

Godric didn't know how his young friends were fairing. He had last seen them together, laughing at a light-hearted jest. Godric longed to have a sword, but no blade rested at his hip, for no squire was entitled to wear such a mark of knighthood. He finally caught sight of his friends. Salazar had drawn his wand whilst Hamon carried a large spear which his father had thrown to him at the first signs of an ambush. Godric fumbled for his wand before finally succeeding in releasing from his robes.

Too late. Spells and arrows were filling the air like swarming flies. A purple spell exploded in front of Godric, erupting in a shower of sparks and mud. Godric's horse reared back, crying out in fear before bolting, throwing its rider as it began to gallop away. Unhorsed, Godric's breath was torn from his body as he landed heavily, although he managed to avoid the bone-breaking kicks of his panicked mount. Reacting with sheer force of will, Godric lumbered to his feet and gaped at the chaos.

A cry rang out close by and he saw a mounted warrior bearing down on him. Godric couldn't move. He stood paralysed, staring up at the raised sword which was ready to hack down and split Godric's skull. However, just as his instincts roared into life at the sign of impending danger and his wand rose to respond to the threat, the warrior was intercepted by Hugh. The castellan, his longsword drawn, had already sent one opponent reeling with a half-severed hand and now urged his horse forward to block the warrior's path. He deflected the sword-blow on his shield, then responded with his own blade as they engaged in a vicious contest.

'Move,' Hugh had time to bark and just like in Avalon's tiltyard, Godric's ruthlessly drilled mind obeyed. He scurried away from the two mounted opponents, dodging spell-fire and whistling arrows, his eyes darting about the battleground in search of his friends.

Godric released a sigh of relief when he spotted them again. Salazar and Hamon were still alive, both engaged in a furious fight for their survival. Just as Hugh had trained them to do, the pair fought as a team. Hamon was using his spear to furiously keep one man at bay, whilst Salazar was flourishing his wand to shield them from missiles. Realising that they were currently holding their own, Godric began to head towards his unhorsed uncle. Salazar was wickedly fast with a wand and Hamon was as strong as an ox; they didn't need Godric's aid.

Despite the arrow which still protruded from his shoulder and the heavy cloak that hindered his sword-arm, Alain was still defiant. His wand was a blur, locked in a vicious duel with one wizard whilst the man's Muggle companion charged forwards, a shield raised high and a sword already swinging in a wide arc to hack Alain down.

But the Lord of Avalon was equal to them both. With a wave of his wand, the sword which should have delivered a killing blow was suddenly turned into a fragile flower which exploded as it struck Alain's hauberk. The shower of petals was dashed with blood before they could finish their descent and the armed Muggle was dead before he could recover from his astonishment. Alain had blocked an incoming spell, whipped back around to face the Muggle and cast a blasting hex at close quarters. His opponent raised his large rounded shield hopelessly, but wood and iron were no match for Alain's fury. The spell punctured through both shield and man, sending the Muggle catapulting away in an explosion of blood and entrails. Alain's attention was already on the wizard before the Muggle's body landed in a motionless heap. Seeing the Lord of Avalon marching towards him with his wand crackling menacingly, the wizard cried out for support.

As more men rushed forward to engage Alain, Godric charged over to help his uncle when a spell exploded at his feet. Coming to an abrupt stop as his feet danced to avoid burning cinders, Godric twisted around to see a man striding through the trees, his predatory eyes fixed on the squire. A rugged blue-cloak fluttered around his tattered robes, whilst metal rings and human bones hung from strands of filthy hair in a matted beard. Godric recognised all this in the heartbeat before the wizard raised an outlandish staff and sent a second spell scything towards him. Godric ducked quickly as the spell flew harmlessly over him and collided with a nearby tree, severing a branch instantly. A cutting curse, the squire thought in surprise, and one which would have decapitated him if he hadn't reacted in time.

His rage began to stir.

His opponent conjured a flaming whip and swung it at Godric, the flames hissing threateningly. Godric rolled aside as the whip flashed by, charring his robes. The fiery weapon reared up and the wizard brought it down again with a murderous intent.

Godric reacted instinctively. He hastily waved his wand at the fallen branch and transfigured it into a large round shield. He managed to raise it just in time as the whip crashed down upon it and exploded in a shower of flames. Miraculously, Godric remained unhurt before a barrage of spells pounded his defences. The shield quivered as two spells collided with it and Godric was forced to step back. He only had a moment to recover before another spell hammered into the shield and the timber splintered, the intense heat of it scorching Godric's cheek. He glanced at his opponent through the shattered frame and saw him smiling smugly at Godric's helplessness.

The stirring rage burned brighter.

The wizard levelled his staff again. But the smile vanished as Godric suddenly charged forwards. Momentarily perplexed, the wizard paused before letting his next curse fly. With his vision impaired by the remnants of his failing shield and having no time to cast a spell, Godric tried to dodge when his feet slipped on mud-splattered leaves. The accident saved his life. Landing heavily as the spell soared harmlessly overhead, Godric cried out and cast a spell desperately.

His shield catapulted away from him, banished from Godric's hold. It twirled through the air before the shield's rim collided with his looming opponents face. The man's curse died on his lips as his nose crumpled under the force of the blow. He staggered back, momentarily blinded with agony and cursing as he stumbled away from the fight, his pain rendering him useless.

Godric didn't press his advantage. He remained stricken on the ground, wide-eyed and unable to believe that he was still alive. He didn't even realise he was smiling, the exhilaration still coursing through his veins. Then he was moving again, scrambling to his feet to avoid being hit by any of the stray missiles which still flew amongst them. Above the deafening clash of fighters rose Bayard's voice, who was cursing vehemently with every mighty blow he struck with his flailing sword.

Godric turned back to Alain. The Lord of Avalon was duelling another pair of wizards, having forced his last opponent to hastily retreat. Both were wizards, their spells hissing past as they sought to breach Alain's steadfast defences. Alain fought back with equal vigour, his attention solely fixed on defeating them. Godric marvelled at the sight and how such a genial man could turn into a god of war. This was not Alain the teacher or Alain the law-giver. This was Alain the warrior, the wizard who had duelled and defeated two of the Seidr's greatest mages. Even when wounded, an aura of command radiated from him, his limp unnoticeable as he fought in a fierce magical contest.

Yet, Alain wasn't a god; he was merely a man and he didn't notice a third opponent emerging from the trees. But Godric did. A darkly cloaked figure slipped out from the wooded foliage and strode towards Alain, murderous intent blazing from his eyes. A gnarled staff, carved with glistening runes and as long as an outstretched arm, illuminated the hand that clutched it. The staff rose slowly, the man's lips moving as he began to cast his incantation and the tip of the staff burned blue as the spell manifested at its castor's call. It was levelled at Alain's unprotected back.

Suddenly the battle-calm descended. Finally, time seemed to slow for Godric and the man who was about to attack his uncle seemed to take an age to cast his curse. Within a heartbeat, Godric felt the chains restraining his rage burst. This time, he didn't hesitate.

Godric sprinted forwards and roared out a warning. Alain turned, his eyes widening at the sight of his impending doom. But Godric had already raised his wand and his arm reacted to its masters need without waiting for him to cast a spell. All Godric could do was channel the tempest raging inside him and give it a release. In a brilliant flash of light and a thundering explosion of sound, his wand sang as it sent a powerful surge of magic flaring forwards.

The cloaked figure whirled around to face the unlooked-for challenge. His face, which had been contorted with hatred as he prepared to cut down the unwitting Lord of Avalon, suddenly blanched in horror. For the briefest of heartbeats, the figures widened eyes met his assailant's blazing emerald gaze and Godric recognised only one emotion prevailing over all others; fear.

Godric's surge of magic struck the man with the force of a stampeding bull. The wizard seemed to hang in the air as he was flung from his feet, trapped in place by the wave of crackling power breaking over him. Then he was spinning backwards, flying with unstoppable speed, his staff still clutched uselessly in his flailing hand. He came to an abrupt and bone-breaking stop as he thudded into a tree.

A chilling snap echoed through the woods, accompanied by a high-pitched screech. Godric's magic momentarily held the thrashing wizard against the shuddering tree, leaves and twigs showering down from trembling branches above him. Only when the wave of magic waned did the wizard finally collapse to lie in a broken heap amidst a tangle of roots. He twitched pitifully, then fell still, one last shattered breath escaping from his torn lips.

Godric was stunned and he fought against the urge to fall to his knees as exhaustion seeped through him, draining him of energy. His gaze was transfixed on the wizard who now lay broken and motionless. What had he done?

Godric's magic had exploded across the battleground, the sound of it drowning out the clamour of fighting men. The battle fell still as the fighters looked for the cause of the explosion. Then the enemy were breaking, fleeing as swiftly as they could and dragging their wounded companions with them as if the fall of the cloaked figure had robbed them of their courage.

Hugh was the last man to disengage from the enemy. His second opponent was already dead. He had misjudged Hugh's skill and a clever feint had allowed Avalon's castellan to pounce, impaling the man with his sword. Such was the strength of his thrust that the great blade was buried so deep that it lodged in the man's ribs and could not be tugged free. Cursing, Hugh twisted his horse about as a loud roar alerted him to the arrival of an oncoming opponent. He abandoned the sword and raised his shield as an axe hammered into it, jarring his arm. Discarding the shield, Hugh threw himself at his enemy. His mailed fist hammered into the man, then he danced aside as his opponent raised his axe for another attack. As the axe swung past, Hugh grasped at the shaft and flung the axe upwards, tearing the weapon away from both fighters. The disarmed man flailed pitifully for his axe, but Hugh was taller and his reach greater. He plucked the falling weapon from the air, before using its momentum to swing it around in a huge arc and burying the axe-head into his opponent's skull with such ferocity that it split the unfortunate warrior from crown to jaw. The man grunted as his helmeted head crumpled, bones and blood splattering the air. The corpse slipped silently from his horse, his soul fleeing before the corpse had reached the ground.

He was the last man to die.

As the sound of fleeing men faded, the place of slaughter finally fell silent. Half a dozen bodies were strewn across the woodland path and one floated face down in the ford, butchered by Bayard's enraged onslaught. Alain had killed another whilst two met their ends at Hugh's formidable hands.

The last corpse was the man Godric had faced. The squire still knelt unmoving as he stared blankly at the corpse, unable to comprehend what he had done. The exhilarated smile he had worn during the skirmish was now gone. He had killed a man. Unnervingly, his wand remained warm in his hand, almost humming as it glowed with fulfilment at the display of raw magical power Godric had unleashed.

It took him a moment to realise that Alain was standing in front of him, the arrow almost comically still lodged in his shoulder. Startled, Godric blinked, then dazedly met his uncle's gaze, mildly surprised at Alain's sudden proximity. The Lord of Avalon stared at him emotionlessly before he wrapped Godric in a tight embrace.

When Alain pulled away, he kept Godric at arms-length and examined him closely.

'You saved my life,' Alain acknowledged proudly. Having dismounted from his warhorse and in a rare sign of familial affection, Hugh had instantly checked on his son's welfare. Satisfied that Hamon still lived, he immediately retrieved his discarded sword, having to use both hands to prise the blade free. Then he approached the corpse of the cloaked figure, rolling it over so that he could look upon the horrifying mask of the man's face.

'He's dead,' Avalon's castellan confirmed. He nudged the corpse with his foot, 'backs broken'.

Hugh looked at Godric with a flicker of pride, but Godric felt empty and unable to muster a response. He couldn't even look at his uncle, who continued to watch him with growing concern. The squire couldn't bare the pride which shone in his uncle's eyes and which Alain was unable to hide. He may have saved his uncle's life, but at the cost of another man's death.

'LORD ALAIN!'

Isolde's cry startled everyone. She was still kneeling by Hadrian's side, tears streaming down her face. She had tried every healing spell in her repertoire, but none could heal the pulsing wound in Hadrian's throat, nor had she tried to remove the arrow for fear that her comrade's life would bleed away more swiftly. She looked up desperately as Alain skidded to halt beside them, Hugh and Godric close behind. All of Alain's retainers clustered around their fallen friend, tears falling freely as they were rendered helpless by his plight. Hadrian was weakening, the burden of struggling to live now taking its toll on his fleeting strength and will to live.

'Hadrian,' Alain said quietly, taking Hadrian's hand in his. Hadrian blinked as he looked at the Lord of Avalon, managing to clasp Alain's hand with what little strength he could muster. He mouthed something, but his voice was lost and he gurgled feebly, causing a small trickle of blood to escape his stained lips. The Lord of Avalon didn't even attempt to save him. He was old to war and recognised that all had already been done to save his friend, even with magic to aid their efforts. Godric watched on with the forlorn fellowship as Alain bent his head and pressed a kiss against Hadrian's temple, before whispering something in the man's ear that the squire could not hear. Hadrian's eyes glanced past Alain, staring up at the wooded canopy and the sky beyond it.

Then one last, soft breath escaped his lips and his body shuddered. The retainer's eyes began to cloud as his soul departed, until he finally gazed blankly and unseeing towards the heavens where not long ago he had been staring wistfully at the promise of the future.

Hadrian was dead, his life having ebbed away. Whilst Bayard howled in grief at the death of his old friend and their surviving comrades wept openly at the loss, no emotion stirred in Godric's breast as he stared at the fallen warrior. For the first time in his life, he had lost a comrade and a man had died by his hand. At fifteen, Godric of Avalon had discovered that he was a killer.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Home Truths

**Home Truths**

Most of Alain's retainers carried wounds. Only Hugh and Godric had escaped injury during the skirmish, although even they were battered and bruised by the experience. Everyone was exhausted, the adrenaline of combat having long since faded. Yet, they remained on edge, eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for signs of another attack.

Hadrian's body was wrapped in cloaks and placed across a packhorse. He would be returned to Avalon and buried on the sacred isle, to lie for eternity in the esteemed company of other warriors who had fallen in service to the Lord of Avalon. Alain's shoulder was hastily tended to by a weeping Isolde. Luck had been on the Lord of Avalon's side, for the arrow had only pricked his flesh, his mail hauberk having robbed it of its strength and the barbed point had not been poisoned. The arrow which had taken Hadrian had been and it was this poison which had made Isolde's desperate healing spells so ineffective. The arrowhead had been dipped in an evil concoction, one only a wizard could have brewed.

Salazar embraced Godric, his relief evident. He even looked elated, although when he winced Godric soon realised that Salazar was holding his arm gingerly as if the limb was broken. Before he could ask further, Hamon had reached them and immediately wrapped them both in a huge bear-hug. It lacked its usual strength. The skirmish had robbed Hamon of his natural energy, although he was tenderly rubbing his right shoulder, which was scorched and burned. His face was waxy, having never experienced bloodshed before and the sight of Hadrian lying in a pool of his own blood had caused Hamon to vomit in a nearby bush. No one thought any less of him for it. Salazar had experienced his own harrowing horrors before and was able to resist the nauseating urge to dispel the contents of his stomach. Godric felt nothing. For years, he had dreamed of receiving praise from his uncle's retinue, but as they discovered the extent of his deeds and showered him with proud praise, he remained mute.

'Thank Merlin you're alive,' Salazar said. Their pale faces were still streaked with tears shed for their fallen comrade and they appeared utterly dishevelled, their cloaks torn and splattered with mud. Despite this, both boys were beaming, elated to have survived their first experience of battle. Godric didn't smile and he returned their embraces half-heartedly. Before he could reply, they heard Alain summon Godric to him,

'What's that about?' asked Salazar, frowning lightly,

'I killed someone,' Godric murmured emotionlessly before striding away without another word.

'W-what?' Hamon stuttered dumbly. Salazar remained silent, staring at Godric's retreating back as his expression showed shock and concern. Whilst they had inflicted wounds on their opponents, they hadn't taken a life.

Alain was standing beside the corpse of the man Godric had killed when his nephew reached him. Hugh was with him and both men were examining the corpse closely. Godric couldn't resist glancing at the crumpled and broken body, before forcibly looking away. No emotion stirred within him as Alain and Hugh exchanged a meaningful look.

'He deserves to know,' Hugh replied simply, shrugging off his friend's hesitation. Alain was holding the wizard's staff and Godric watched his uncle inspect the magical object with a keen eye, his fingers delicately tracing the swirling runes etched into the knotted wood.

'Seidr,' Alain finally said, gesturing at the corpse. That much was obvious. Only the Seidr still abided by the ancient traditions of the Old North by practising magic using staffs instead of wands. However,o even amongst these bloodthirsty practitioners of magic, it was a dying custom.

'Lord,' Hugh said and pointed towards the man's face. Godric glanced at the corpse, trying to avoid the man's wide eyes. The horrified fear the man had felt in the moment of his death would remain fixed in his clouded gaze for eternity. Following Hugh's direction, Godric noticed a symbol depicting a fierce bird of prey tattooed on the man's cheek, with wings outspread and talons ready to strike.

'The White Falcon,' he heard Alain whisper before sharing another grim look with Hugh. The castellan held out his hand, where in his palm rested a small ring. It was covered in runes, but what drew the eye was the falcon emblazoned upon it, fixed in the same pose as the tattoo. Alain took the engraved offering and stared at it stonily, tracing the falcon which had been carved from narwhal tusk long ago. He glanced at Godric, then slipped the ring into the string pouch at his belt. He passed the staff to Hugh, who snapped it across his armoured thigh and tossed the remnants into the bushes.

'At least we know who we're dealing with,' Alain stated quietly, staring into the woods where their attackers had disappeared. The meaning behind the White Falcon symbol was lost on Godric and his uncle's concern was soon forgotten as the retinue hastily tended their wounds and finally abandoned the place of slaughter. Even the ring's existence slipped from his mind, for Godric was now a killer and it haunted him.

The bodies of their attackers were left to rot where they fell.

When they finally reached the kindly forester's homestead, they found nothing more than a ransacked, smoking ruin and no sign of their Portkey. Alain's fears were soon proved right, for a brief search of the nearby area soon explained the absence of the forester and his young daughter. After all, the Seidr were well-known for their excessive ruthlessness. The woodsman had been brutally killed, his eyes gouged out and his tongue removed. The Seidr hadn't stopped there, for his head had been viciously hacked off and stuck on a spear, whilst what remained of his body showed signs of excruciating torture.

Discarded beside the mutilated corpse was the man's daughter, who had suffered an even more harrowing fate. Rape is a terrible thing and no woman should have to suffer it, especially not a girl barely older than thirteen. The cherub-like girl had suffered cruelly at the hands of the Seidr, before her throat had been slit. They had been feasted upon by marauding animals and flies now swarmed around them.

The harrowing scene revolted Godric and proved too much, causing him to vomit violently. Images assaulted his mind; Hadrian's last rasping breath as he struggled against encroaching death; the little girl's clouded eyes staring blankly up, devoid of life. Most prominent of all was the fear which had shone from the eyes of the Seidr wizard whose life had been cut short by Godric's magic. He couldn't bare it anymore and he continued vomiting until there was nothing left to vent. When the retching finally subsided, Godric took shuddering breaths and wiped away long threads of saliva which hung from his mouth. Then he silently returned to where the remains of the murdered forester and his young daughter were respectively gathered. Alain had removed the forester's head from the spear and transfigured the weapon into a shovel. He then began digging a grave and was shortly joined by Godric and the rest of his retinue. No one spoke. For innocents to have been killed so cruelly weighed heavily on all their minds and even the most hardened veterans amongst them struggled to digest the ill way they had been treated by the Seidr.

After the bodies were buried with dignity, Alain had insisted on leaving the valley swiftly. Warded traps left by the Seidr had been discovered around the homestead in a last desperate attempt to kill the Lord of Avalon if their attack failed. But Alain had fought a long and bloody war against the Seidr and he knew their tricks. He made short work of dispelling the malicious wards charmed around the mutilated bodies, as he was too honourable to leave them unburied, especially when their connection to him had brought about their grisly fate. Those placed on the homestead were left untouched, although Alain added a charm which he cautioned would dissuade unwitting travellers from investigating further. Then they departed the valley, slowed by their lack of horses and exhaustion as they began the long trek to Avalon.

It took the retinue many days to reach the security of Avalon. Alain had led them on a meandering route through hilly valleys and over dark moors towards Nottingham, where the booming spring market town offered an opportunity to purchase enough horses to replace those lost during the skirmish. They approached from the north, travelling stealthily through the large forest of Sherwood, which afforded them shelter from prying eyes. Sherwood didn't ease the retinue's trepidation and they remained tense and alert throughout the journey, for the woods of Sherwood were a notorious haven for outlaws and evil folk. Who knew how many criminals lurked amongst the trees, desperate enough to chance their luck by attacking the King's Grand Sorcerer. However, their fears proved unwarranted and they left the forest unscathed.

Alain didn't wish to take any more risks with their lives. He had already decided to ignore the route south through the Welsh Marches. Great swathes of those borderlands were controlled by the kinsmen of Robert of Bellême. The Lord of Avalon was no closer to figuring out who would plot to organise the attack, but he had his suspicions and Bellême was high on that list. Bellême may be the kind of man to confront an enemy directly, but Alain didn't doubt that Bellême would be unable to resist the temptation to attack Alain if they happened to cross his path.

They made quicker progress after replenishing their supplies in Nottingham. Godric had remained subdued for most of the journey and slept little at night, for the faceless spectre had returned to haunt his nightmares. Having experienced the chaotic brutality of a battle, Godric felt foolish for his naive childhood dreams. A battle wasn't glorious; the clamour of it was deafening, the fear paralysing and the violence harrowing. Hadrian had been proven right. Skill in arms counted for little if luck was against you. For the last few years, Godric had been told he had the skill and potential to be a great warrior. Yet, during the skirmish, it was a mistimed slip which had saved his life. Moreover, if the arrow's course had been slightly different, then it would have hit Godric. He shuddered at the stark realisation that he could have died in the mud without ever striking a blow against the enemy.

It was a sombre and exhausted band who finally reached Avalon's gates. As they trudged into the bailey, the household burst from the keep, Morwenna in the lead. The welcoming smiles of their friends and loved ones were a balm on their wounded hearts. Godric ignored it all. He slunk away to the stables as quietly as he could, cleverly avoiding Morwenna's motherly attention as she attempted to nurse their injuries. He knew that Alain had noticed his abrupt departure, but Godric shied away from a confrontation. He needed to be alone.

Many tears were shed that night when news of Hadrian's death was delivered to Avalon's household, for his friendly nature would be sorely missed. His cloaked body was taken to Belin's small chapel, where Morwenna and her handmaidens washed and prepared his body for burial. Godric hadn't even known Hadrian had been one of the few wizards who worshipped the Christian deity and he was consumed by a wave of remorse and guilt for being ignorant of Hadrian's beliefs. There was no feast that night, as the household, led by Alain and Bayard, held a silent and respectful vigil over Hadrian's body.

Godric did his best to avoid it. He knew he should join the vigil, but all he wanted was to be alone and had mutely rebuffed all Morwenna's efforts to greet him. Her hurt and confused expression as he stalked away only served to fuel his rising guilt. Neither Salazar nor Hamon approached him, knowing him well enough to gauge that their friend needed privacy. Instead, Godric had raided Lambert's cellars in pursuit of a costrel of uisce beatha. He welcomed the burning sensation, before leaving the keep and making his way to the towering gatehouse, where he nestled against the ramparts of the tallest tower in the refreshing marsh air, intent on driving away the thoughts that haunted him.

It was Alain who ventured into the night to find his nephew. Heaving bandaged and bruised body up the steps to the towers timber platform, Alain sighed at Godric's unfocused gaze, instantly recognising that his nephew was drunk. He silently clambered over to Godric and settled down beside him.

'Morwenna will be very displeased,' he chastised Godric, then surprised him by chuckling half-heartedly, 'when she discovers that you have single-handedly tried to empty our stores of that devilish concoction.'

'I'm sorry, Lord,' Godric slurred. He tried to stand, but when the world began to spin, he was forced to fall back down. Fortunately, his uncle conjured feathered cushions in time to catch Godric's body before he crashed unceremoniously to the floor. Godric groaned and put his head in his hands.

'You'll regret this in the morning,' Alain smiled knowingly, 'but I doubt Morwenna will be too angry. Well maybe a little disappointed. She's come to expect this sought of foolishness from Hamon, not you.'

Godric muttered another apology, finally looking at his uncle. As Alain's face fell sombre, Godric was suddenly reminded of the first time the two had met in the King's palace.

'Given what has happened,' Alain continued gently, 'and knowing how fond she is of you, I feared that you would have sought out Ella's services, or worse, one of Morwenna's maids.'

Godric was too drunk to hide his blushing face. He'd been considering doing just that. Besides, he was certain that Salazar was doing the same by seeking solace in Rhyannon's comforting embrace.

'I didn't feel like doing much,' he lied unconvincingly. If Alain noticed, he didn't mention it.

'Alas, I think Ella will be busy enough tonight,' his uncle admitted sadly. Godric shrugged. He'd probably consumed too much alcohol to even consider doing what Alain was suggesting, as Hamon had once sagely advised him could happen despite having next to no experience himself. Alain gestured at the half-empty costrel,

'You know that you'll have to face what you did eventually. Only then can you accept it and move on. Seeking comfort in drunkenness will only cloud your wits and rob you of your senses, nothing more. It may dull the hurt you feel, but it won't vanquish them entirely.'

Godric didn't reply. He had immediately known why Alain had come to find him. What he didn't expect was Alain to take a deep breath and begin a tale which had Godric enraptured from the moment it began.

'You're younger than I was when I first killed a man,' Alain admitted quietly,

'I am?' Godric mumbled dumbly, gaping drunkenly at his uncle. Alain nodded.

'It was during the great campaign before Senlac Hill,' Alain nodded solemnly, 'I was eighteen and apprenticed to a Breton wizard called Taillefer the Mad. He was both a strange and powerful wizard. He was keen to join William of Normandy, who was mustering an army to confront Godwinson the Usurper. In those days, Saxon wizards were formidable opponents and William knew he needed magic if he was to win the throne of England.

'The Old King rallied many wizards to his banner, promising them land and prestige if he succeeded. Taillefer had always been keen to pursue personal glory and he accepted the invitation almost instantly. As his apprentice, I went with him. I remember feeling exhilarated as we set sail for the white cliffs across the sea, eager to be tested in battle.

'However, I soon learnt that the reality of battle isn't as glorious as the idea of it. We spent weeks raiding and pillaging the land, trying to lure the Usurper from his strongholds. His army was exhausted, having to hastily return from the north to face us after winning a great victory against another rival and we knew that the longer the delay, the more reinforcements would rally to his banner. So, we plagued the innocent mercilessly. The first man I killed was a Saxon thane. In that moment, he was simply a man defending his hearth and family from Norman raiders. But when he came at me wielding a great axe, I didn't hesitate to cut him down.

'To my lasting shame, I didn't feel the guilt which has consumed you. You are an exceptional young man, Godric, for your heart truly shines with a nobility few possess. Unlike you, I felt pride in my achievement, believing that I had proved my manhood by spilling the blood of an enemy warrior. I had also tasted the chaos of battle and I began to hunger for it. Fortunately, the great battle for Senlac Hill soon followed.'

Godric sat mesmerised, his drunkenness forgotten. His uncle had never been so candid about his past before.

'What happened?' he asked curiously. He knew of the great battle of Senlac Hill, for many of his paternal ancestors had fought and died on that bloodied hill. But he hadn't known that Alain had been there, barely older than Godric was now. Alain shook his head,

'It was a bloody day,' he muttered darkly, 'and thousands died in the struggle. Taillefer was amongst the fallen. He defeated a Saxon wizard before the armies clashed, then led our forces in their first assault on the Saxon line. He met his death there, achieving an infamy in death which he craved for all his life.

'I remember little of the battle, other than the roar of the Saxons as we broke against their impregnable line of shields and spears again and again. Their best warriors could slaughter both a knight and his mount with one swing of their mighty axes, whilst we used spells and cunning to break down their shield-wall. I revelled in the chaos and I was good at it too, a killer of men.

'Yet, they refused to break, even when the Usurper was wounded by a stray arrow. A great warrior held their line and no Norman could defeat him. Being young and naïve, I faced the warrior myself, using magic which he could not call upon. It is still one of the hardest contests I have fought, but I finally managed to defeat him, although it was with luck rather than martial prowess. However, with their champion dead, the Saxon shield-wall shattered, and the Usurper was cut down, enabling William to claim the throne.

'The King rewarded me generously and gave me the title of Grand-Sorcerer. I had power and prestige and I was young, arrogant and seemingly had the world at my fingertips. I met Hugh at that time, who was as young and talented as myself. He soon became my champion and trusted confidant.'

Alain paused to scratch tiredly at the grey beard which had grown over the course of their return from the north.

'Then came the Harrying. The Saxons rebelled in the north, led by the Seidr wizards. Normans were butchered, their castles burned, and so the King reacted decisively. Those were dark days of slaughter. I challenged two of the Seidr's greatest champions to a duel and killed them both; whilst Hugh fought like a lion when he slew that great troll with nothing but his sword. Slowly, we forced the Seidr out of the kingdom, shattering their power and disinheriting their Saxon allies. Few magical Saxon families survived the purge.

'But if the war had been a dark time, then the aftermath was truly terrible. King William could be crueller and more ruthless than any of his sons when his wrath was stirred. He ordered that every man and boy in the north should be put to death and we carried out his commands with brutal efficiency. In the hands of fools, magic can do evil deeds. We laid waste to the land and slaughtered thousands, innocents as well as rebels. Countless more succumbed to the diseases and starvation which ravaged them afterwards.'

Alain paused as a small tear trickled down his cheek. He didn't look at Godric, fearing the incrimination he believed he would see in his nephew's eyes. After all, Godric was of Saxon blood and it was his people that Alain had had a hand in slaughtering. Godric couldn't keep the horror from his face, unable to comprehend how the fair peace-giver before him could be capable of such ruthlessness.

'I survived the Harrying,' Alain finally said quietly, 'but I was damaged; broken. I was sickened by the atrocities I had helped commit and the remorse threatened to overwhelm me. Every night I was haunted by the faces of the people I had killed and their cries as they begged for mercy. Overwhelmed by dishonour, I slipped into depression and when the guilt became too much, I finally tried to end it all.'

'No!' Godric exclaimed. Even in the magical world, suicide was considered a grave sin. That his uncle had attempted the unthinkable shook Godric to his core.

'Yes,' Alain admitted sadly, 'but the darkness robbed me of reason and I could no longer bare the self-loathing I felt. Fortunately, I was found by Hugh, who helped heal my blundering attempts at ending my own life and then stayed with me until my mind had somewhat healed. He forced me to swear an oath that I would not be so foolish again and when I refused, he threatened to finish the job himself. Held at sword point by my most loyal friend, I swore the oath quickly enough after that.

'When I recovered, I was still filled with loathing for the monster I had become but I grasped at the chance for redemption. Hugh was equally disenchanted by his part in the Harrying and we both agreed that it was in our best interests to leave Britain and escape the horrors of our pasts. I stepped down from my place as Grand Sorcerer and, with much reluctance, the King granted me permission to leave.

'Listen carefully, Godric. Every man goes through an experience which changes them profoundly. The Harrying was mine. You too will experience a life-changing event one day and how you respond to those challenges will shape you into the man you will become. I hope that when this time comes, you will choose the right path.'

Godric stared at his uncle apprehensively,

'What happened' he asked, 'when you left Britain?'

'We travelled,' Alain answered, smiling wistfully at the memory, 'and sought to discover what magic could really offer people. All my life I had been trained to use it for war. Wandering aimlessly in those carefree years, I discovered that it could be a force for good. Fundamentally, I learnt that wizards were blessed with a gift that shouldn't be used for destruction, but to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Years passed before we returned to Britain.

'Christians speak of penance. If such an ideal truly exists, then mine came when I arrived in Avalon. We came here by accident, having gotten lost in the marsh mists. We had made camp beside the old willow and were settling down for the night when the Ferryman came and guided us to Avalon's isle. I faced the Trials and was judged worthy of the title of Lord of Avalon. I spent days exploring the ruins of my new domain before stumbling upon what I had not even realised I was looking for…'

'Morwenna,' Godric guessed. Alain's smile widened, lighting his face.

'Morwenna,' he agreed, a faraway look in his eyes, 'She was bathing in one of the sacred pools when I first stumbled upon her. I'd never seen anything like it. I think my gasp of surprise alerted her to my presence. Don't tell her I told you, but she remained standing naked in the pool, staring at me defiantly with eyes blazing like fire. I had never seen such a beautiful creature, nor witnessed a woman react so brazenly and I was struck weak by love. Then she was gone, disappearing into the pools depths. I searched for her, turning over every stone and exploring every pool before I finally met her again. I courted her; no easy task I can assure you. But I was blessed, and fortune favoured me, for she finally relented enough to return the love I felt for her and we married shortly after.'

Godric couldn't help returning his uncle's smile. It was his first since the skirmish in the north.

'She loves you,' Godric agreed. No one could doubt that the Lord and Lady of Avalon were besotted with each other.

'And I her, for truly she is like no other woman I have met,' confessed Alain, 'actually there is more truth to that than you realise. Morwenna is a Water-Nymph, a magical being who protects Avalon's sacred waters and it is rumoured that the Great Mother charged Morwenna's kind with this sacred duty, which is why she radiates wisdom and an otherworldly aura. It is also why she can't leave the Avalon's boundaries, for her life blood is bound to its waters. Many call our love perverse, your father amongst them.'

Godric was unsurprised by this revelation. Sir Edmund of Black-Hollow was a conservative man. Godric briefly wondered what his mother had thought of her half-brother's marriage. He hoped she had supported it.

'But I don't think so, for our love is purer than most. In those blissful days, she showed me that I'm a different man than the bloodthirsty beast I was after the Harrying and she helped heal the scars that still plagued me. I returned to the magical world a changed man and was soon welcomed back at court as a Grand-Sorcerer. Over the next years, I gathered a good household around me, with loyal friends to protect it. The guilt will never leave me, but it dwindles in comparison to the guilt I feel at the cost of our love, for Morwenna cannot bear children, even though we have both longed for a child to call our own. My guilt over not being able to give Morwenna what her heart desires most, no matter how skilled a wizard I am, is far greater than any remorse I've ever felt for killing a man.'

He drifted into silence, Alain thinking of bygone years and Godric contemplating the nature of the guilt which had plagued him for days. The half-emptied costrel lay forgotten in his hand.

'Does it get easier?' Godric finally asked timidly, 'to cope with the guilt?'

'No, it doesn't,' Alain admitted sadly, 'but fighting the darkness of this world, even when that darkness is inside us, never gets easier. However, it is the right thing to do and we should not fear what is right.'

'I felt scared,' Godric suddenly confessed in a rush, his eyes beginning to water, 'when Hadrian fell, and the fighting started, I was crippled by fear. I can't help but feel that if I had reacted quicker, had kept my head, then maybe I could have saved him!'

'That arrow was tipped with poison,' Alain said sternly, 'if the task was beyond Isolde, the most accomplished of my retainers in the healing arts, then it certainly demanded more expertise than you can yet supply. I'm not surprised you were paralysed by fear; when that thane attacked me all those years ago I was almost unmanned by fear. However, prepared you are, the fear never goes away, whether for your own life or that of a friend. It is how you respond to it that makes you a man and on that day, you conquered it. If you hadn't, then I would be dead and you would be mourning me as well as Hadrian.'

Finally, the unshed tears came, beginning to stream down Godric's cheeks as he put his head in his hands and sobbed in relief. His uncle draped a consoling arm across his shoulders,

'It was I who failed Hadrian,' Alain admitted sombrely, 'and I who failed the Forester and his daughter. Do you know why we fight Godric?'

'To protect those who cannot protect themselves?' Godric said, repeating his uncle's earlier words. Alain nodded,

'We fight to protect the innocent.' Alain lectured him solemnly, 'people like that poor little girl, to stop others like her from having their lives cut short by evil men. We don't always succeed, but as long as we strive to do that, to use our magic for good, then there will always be hope to battle the encroaching darkness.'

Alain's voice cracked and suddenly revealed the extent in which the recent deaths of his friends and allies weighed heavily on his uncle's conscience. In the eyes of the Seidr, that little girl and her kindly father had been traitors, and the penalty for aiding the Seidr's most hated foe had been a tortured death.

'What legacy will I leave?' Alain despaired, 'will my life and actions have ramifications long after I am gone. Will I be remembered in a thousand years? I doubt it, it is too much for any man to hope. I will be forgotten long before then, my bones turning to dust and with no bloodline to cherish my memory.'

Godric marvelled at the vulnerability his uncle was openly displaying. For years, Alain had been a pillar of strength to his nephew, his kind actions and wise words helping to forge him into the promising young man he was today. Godric owed too much to Alain to allow him to wallow in remorse for events that were out of his control. He didn't know if it was the drink running through his veins, but when he'd gained Alain's attention by telling him this, he threatened to finish the job Hugh had started all those years ago.

'By Merlin, you don't mince your words,' Alain laughed weakly in disbelief,

'Besides,' Godric shrugged, passing the costrel to his uncle, 'you have Salazar, Hamon and me. We are your legacy.'

Alain fell quiet, contemplating Godric's kind words with a proud smile.

'What a pair we make,' Alain chuckled ruefully, 'I swear you're more Hugh's nephew than mine. You don't suffer fools and speak the truth just as bluntly as Hugh'

'I've had practice,' Godric joked, his drunkenness loosening his tongue 'Salazar can mope with the best of them when he wants. If the world was filled with people like you two, we'd never get anything done.'

'Says you,' Alain snorted, reminding Godric that it was his surliness and despondency which had persuaded Alain to seek him out. Godric smiled sheepishly but was pleased to see his uncle regain some of his old vigour. He fell silent as Alain swigged the potent drink and grimaced at the burning taste.

'What did the symbol mean?' Godric suddenly asked, his smile slipping, 'the one on the ring that the man I killed wore?'

'The White Falcon?' Alain responded darkly, 'well, I suppose this is a night for blunt truths. The White Falcon is the badge of a powerful family of Seidr known as the Ragnarssons. I haven't seen it for many years and until I saw that man's ring I believed that their bloodline was extinct. I'm hardly surprised they survived as they have many kinsmen across the northern seas. For a century, their seat of power was in Britain. They are a fierce and violent brood and their ruthlessness knows no limits.'

When Alain paused, Godric knew he had left much unsaid. Alain sighed as his nephew looked at him expectantly,

'For someone so terrible at lying, there is no fooling you. The Ragnarssons lost many kinsmen in the Harrying. They never forget a slight, although how they came to be so far south is beyond my understanding.'

'They wanted you dead!' Godric said with the certainty of youth.

'Alas, I think you are right,' Alain agreed thoughtfully, 'but I suspect others had a hand in plotting it. The Ragnarssons lack the resources or the courage to try this alone. Who influenced their schemes I do not know. But they would have succeeded if you hadn't thwarted them and they will seek to kill you for that. Kinship is everything to the Seidr and bloodier feuds have been started for less. You will have to die before they can honour his wretched memory.'

Godric nodded, thankful for Alain's warning. The Ragnarssons were just more names to add to the growing list of people who wished to see him dead and he was only fifteen. Alain felt the anxiety radiating from his nephew and easily guessed the cause. However, before he could offer any comfort, Godric spoke in a voice which held no fear,

'What happens now?'

'Now is the time for us to act,' Alain replied firmly, marvelling at his nephew's bravery, 'an attack on my own life I can accept, but an attempt on the lives of my followers and the murder of a friend I can never forgive. The Lord of Avalon is a title which carries a lot of influence in the magical world. I rarely use the privileges it affords me, but I feel that my hand has been forced. Tonight, my messenger-hawks are already on their way to my peers on the Wizengamot, the High Council of Britain. I have demanded that a great assembly is called. If they agree to my request, then it shall be held during Lughnasadh, when many of the wizards and witches of Britain muster to celebrate our sacred festivities. There, we shall seek justice for our murdered friends.

'You shall accompany me,' Alain said lightly before Godric could request to attend, 'our venture in the north gave you a taste of how fractured the magical world has become. I have tried my best to keep both you and Salazar away from the politics which poison our society, but now can no longer hold you back. You are almost a man; it is time I began treating you like one.'

'I'm not afraid,' Godric declared defiantly, his blood fired by righteousness, alcohol and his thirst to seek justice for those so cruelly wronged, 'when I first discovered I was different, I feared it. I've spent years fearing it. I remember my mother once telling me that one day I would need to find the courage to become my own man. She told me that I had the heart of a lion. It's taken me years to find it, but I will hide no longer. When I meet the dangers in my future, I will face it like a man, to protect those who need me most. That is your legacy, uncle.'

'You sound like your mother and it is the most articulate thing I have ever heard you say,' Alain said softly, tears of pride running unchecked down his cheek, 'and the most truthful.'

Godric shrugged, blushing slightly at Alain's honesty.

'Besides,' Godric said with drunken certainty, 'Avalon is impregnable, whoever wants me dead can't harm me here.'

Alain didn't respond, a telling reminder of Godric's ignorance. Everything had a weakness, and nothing was ever invulnerable.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Lughnasadh

**Lughnasadh**

 **August 1091**

The Wizengamot had been called. Wizards from all corners of Britain were descending on Ynys Mon, one of the most sacred and magical places in the wizarding worlds of Christendom. As tradition demanded, wars and feuds would be put on hold and a stalemate reached, for ancient law dictated that no blood could be spilt on Ynys Mon's sacred ground whilst the great assembly met. It would coincide with the summer festivities of Lughnasadh and the great men and women of magical Britain would bring their families and followers to revel in the bawdy celebrations. Alliances would be strengthened and trade agreement's established; a time for young lovers to express their passions and a chance for ambitious folk to exhibit their prowess in the Tailteann Games. Only fools or outlaws avoided such spirited festivities.

When the Wizengamot assembled, Alain had every intention of speaking. After all, it had been his messenger-hawks which had first called for the Wizengamot to gather. Honour dictated it, for Hadrian, his sworn follower, had been murdered in the northern hills and it was Alain's duty as the dead wizard's liege lord to demand justice on his behalf. His retinue would be travelling with him, armed and on guard, determined not to let another comrade fall. More surprisingly was Ella's presence amongst the group. Alain had initially forbidden it, but the fiery Ella had confronted him directly about being denied an opportunity to ply her trade for a sizable return of gold. Alain's stubborn arguments proved fruitless and when Ella advised him that she could learn more information in the time it took for a man to spend himself between her legs than all Alain's spies could in a month, the Lord of Avalon had finally seen the wisdom in her arguments. Now she rode amongst Alain's company, clad in a leather jerkin and with a hunting knife at her hip, which made her look admiringly like a huntress from ancient songs. Indeed, she gained a complimentary murmur from Alain's gathered soldiers and Hamon could barely keep his eyes off her. Alain's squires had also been granted permission to attend. The Lord of Avalon had deemed it time for his apprentices to embrace the wizarding world, both the opportunities and danger this could bring.

They had set out from Avalon at the first light of dawn. Most of the household were still in their beds, but Morwenna rose early to bid them farewell and wish them good luck in their efforts to find justice for the murdered Hadrian. Morwenna was seething when she saw Ella in their company. The Lady of Avalon was furious enough at Alain's decision to allow his squires to attend the Wizengamot, let alone seeing her nemesis ride out when she could not. As Godric had recently discovered, Morwenna was a Water-Nymph, born in Avalon and as such, could not travel beyond the islands boundaries or spend more than a few days without replenishing her magic by bathing in its mystical pools. The knowledge of Morwenna's heritage had not lessened Godric's affection for her, but if anything, it had increased his admiration. Nymphs of all kinds were deeply magical beings, whose wisdom was held in high esteem by many in the magical world. When Morwenna had discovered that her husband had let her secret slip, she had confronted Godric, unable to hide her apprehension at what his reaction would be. But Godric, sensing her anxiety, had immediately eased her fears, informing her gently that he did not see her any differently. The Lady of Avalon had responded by reaching up to pat his cheek affectionately, before fleeing to her private chambers, her eyes watering and her relief evident. Aelflaed, Morwenna's ever silent handmaiden, had smiled at him proudly before hurrying away in her mistress's wake. Ever since she had been a surprising ally against Lambert's efforts to incriminate Alain's three squires for numerous wrong doings.

Fortunately, Alain's quiet reassurances had finally won over his wife and even though she was peeved at Ella's presence, it did not stop her from bidding them all farewell with a warm smile.

The overwhelming guilt Godric had felt after the skirmish in the north had dulled over the weeks since that desperate fight. Although this was in part due to Alain's comforting talk, his sleep was still disturbed by haunting nightmares of near misses, faceless corpses and masked devils. The most common apparitions came in the form of the spectral, blood-drenched warrior and his latest companion, the twisted and broken Seidr wizard he had killed, whose lifeless eyes were clouded with an undying fear. As Alain had wisely told him, time dulls much, but it couldn't vanquish his guilt completely.

No portkey was used to travel to Ynys Mon. After the brutal murders of the forester and his young daughter, Alain had refused to risk the lives of more innocents in guarding them. Moreover, he needed time to gather his thoughts and besides, he loved the thrill and freedom of riding a well-bred mount. He had yet to replace his priceless Spanish-bred horse which had been slaughtered during the ambush, but thanks to Gervais's talents as a horse-breeder, Avalon's stables still housed a number of beasts which would make his fellow magnates sick with envy. As they cleared the mists of Avalon, they headed for the Severn and continued north along the great riverbank before finding a ford which enabled them to turn west towards Wales. Unavoidably, their journey took them through the notorious Welsh Marches.

This was the violent borderland between the Welsh princes and their Norman baronial neighbours. There was little love lost between these people, but the Welsh spent just as much time warring against their own kin than raiding Norman lands, whose rulers exploited these rivalries to advance their own power by encroaching further into the mountains of Wales. The small company was continuously on guard as they skirted the merchant towns and castles which stood scattered across the wild landscape. This was the land of Bellême kin, but Alain had to be wary of natives who held no love for Norman and Englishman alike, so they trekked past mountain strongholds and through ancient forests with little fanfare. It was one of the most beautiful landscapes Godric had travelled through and as they reached the rugged terrain of North Wales, they could sense the rich magical history which permeated the land itself.

Throughout their long journey, Godric had noticed that there was something troubling Salazar. The older squire was behaving strangely and Godric knew that the maid Rhyannon was at the heart of it. It had still been dark when the young maidservant had hurried from the keep and approached the three squires as they were busy preparing their horses and supplies, before insisting on speaking to Salazar alone. She barely acknowledged Godric and Hamon's friendly welcome. As they watched the pair retreat into the dark confines of the stable, Godric and Hamon had exchanged an amused look, presuming that the young lovers were sharing a chaste moment before Salazar's departure.

This assumption was shattered only a few moments later when they heard heated voices being raised. The ensuing argument was fiercely short and when Rhyannon finally emerged, even the early morning darkness couldn't hide her reddened eyes and ashen face as she scurried back towards the keep, her body wracked by sobs. Godric and Hamon had watched her abrupt exodus with bemusement until Salazar re-emerged, pale-faced and looking ill. He had waved off their efforts to voice concern and had stayed out of their excited chatter for the majority of the ride to Ynys Mon. Godric could tell that Hamon shared his concerns, but neither pressed Salazar to reveal what had taken place. They knew Salazar well enough to know that their friend would approach them when he judged the timing right. Furthermore, by the time Alain's retinue had reached the Afon Menai, Salazar's disposition had improved.

The Afon Menai was the strait which separated Ynys Mon from the mountainous mainland. As the company descended from the rugged vastness and into the lowlands, they left the towering peak of Yr Wyddfa and its mountainous kin at their back, where they stood rising high into the bright summer's sky and gleaming in the radiant glow of the sun. Ahead of them and beyond the narrow strait rose the Holy Isle.

This island had once been the beating heart of magical Britain, with the druidic shamans who had dominated ancient society once calling its holly groves and deep lakes their home. But then the Roman Legions came and with them came the ruthless mages of Rome, whose magical might had helped a small settlement on the Italian peninsula to become the heart of an all-conquering empire. Headed by their native wizards, Ynys Mon had been the refuge for those Britons still battling to resist the conquest of Rome. Yet after the fall of the warrior queen Boudicca and the efforts of those who fought on became negligible, Rome's eyes had turned on this rebellious corner of their new province. With swords and magic, the Roman's had cleansed the island, butchering the druids and their followers, burning the sacred groves and desecrating their magical places. Yet the magic of Ynys Mon survived and had lingered on throughout through many centuries of English, Irish and Viking raids so that the island still simmered with mystical power and remained one of the most magical of places in wizarding Britain.

Already wizards were amassing on the Afon Menai's riverbank, waiting patiently for a chance to cross to the Holy Isle. Ancient wards meant that it was impossible to apparate directly to Ynys Mon when the Wizengamot met. Thus, the wizards of Britain were forced to wait for a magical causeway to appear or bribe local fishermen to sail them across the short, rough expanse.

To Godric's surprise, there were many Muggles amongst them. Christian holy men, fuelled by greed and fear, usually advised their flocks of followers to avoid wizarding kind and there were many who had journeyed to harangue and jeer at the wizards as worshippers of the devil until a few warning spells from irritated mages sent them scampering unceremoniously away. However, this hadn't discouraged all Christians, who, sensing an opportunity to enrich themselves, now flocked to the make-shift camp to sell their wares. Pagan worshipers had no such discouragement and these men and women now crept from their hidden hovels in the mountains to trade and offer services to the gathering wizards. They didn't linger long, for they risked persecution from wizards and Christians alike and soon returned to their mountain vastness.

As Alain's retinue reached the gathered crowd, many turned to stare and the prestige which accompanied the title of Lord of Avalon was once again displayed to the stunned admiration of his squires. Wizards and witches openly gaped as the famous Alain of Avalon urged his mount through their ranks towards the water's edge. Whispers followed their progress as more eyes recognised the silver apple as Alain's coat-of-arms, the honour of bearing Alain's standard having fallen to a beaming Hamon. Some openly greeted him and Alain acknowledged them with a smile and an exchange of niceties.

It was a long wait to wait for the ferry's which would transport them across to the holy isle. Godric, ever restless, waded into the shallows and started skimming pebbles whilst Hamon dozed in the summer heat and Salazar rested against a rock, deep in thought. Godric had never seen the sea before, but as he looked out over the Menai, he could see a large expanse unfolding out into the distance. Beyond the sea was Ireland and past that an ocean so huge and untameable that very few people had seen what lands lay in the far reaches of the known world. Shaking his head and unable to fathom something of such immense size, he passed the time watching his companions. Bayard was busy telling tall tales to a cluster of Muggle children who had followed their parent's wakes. After he had finished with a clamour of admiration for whatever deeds of daring valour he had conjured, Bayard slipped each child a gold piece for their troubles, warning them sternly to keep the coins hidden until they were well away from any thieves or vagabonds who may see them as easy pickings. If their families were sensible, then Bayard's charitable donation would see them fed and prospering past winter and even beyond.

'What are we waiting for?' Hamon eventually groaned, growing bored of his half-hearted attempts at sleep.

'For passage across the straits,' Gilbert replied as he spent his time vigorously polishing his shining helm.

'Will it take long?' Godric asked,

'This is ancient magic,' Isolde said quietly, her eyes fixed upon the rolling tides of water, 'it'd be foolish to disturb such power with our impatience…'

'Everything is ancient and sacred to wizards,' Ella snorted, rolling her eyes at the tedium.

'Isolde's right,' Alain perked up during a moment's peace from curious wizards, 'only Ynys Mon can decide what time we cross. In the meantime we must wait, for the only other course is to bribes the local fishermen to take us and transporting horses by boat is a notoriously difficult task, even with magic to aid us. We must wait our turn!'

Yet, in the end, even Alain, his patience finally worn away by the horde of wizards who clamoured for his attention, was forced to slip a few pieces of gold to a purple-robed watchman. The bribe ensured that Avalon's retinue would be amongst the next group of travellers to cross the Menai. Godric's active mind had imagined a multitude of ways they could cross the strait, from riding obedient sea monsters to boarding enchanted ships manned by ghostly apparitions. He was rendered speechless when the ground seemed to shake beneath his feet and the sea rolled back before his eyes. Great torrents of water spiralled into the sky as the sea parted and opened up a magical causeway across the strait. Godric's stunned expression brought chuckles from his companions, who were highly amused by his reaction to this ancient trick from the East.

It was an effort to urge their mounts across the causeway as the beasts made their displeasure at venturing into this murky realm known. The sun was blocked by the towering walls of water to either side of them and as the throng tread on across a rock and weed covered seabed, a chilling breeze assaulted them. Shadows of great fleets of fish and other greater creatures of the deep could be glimpsed behind the watery veil and the crowd pushed onwards at a quicker pace until the watery causeway was clear of travellers. As soon as the last person had climbed the small rise to a beach strewn with shingle, the great walls toppled inwards with a booming crash. The strait's heaved and rolled, then finally lay still, as if nothing was out of place.

Gathering together their belongings, they joined the growing throng of people swarming inland towards the festival. As they went, Alain dropped back to ride alongside his apprentices, content to let Hugh and Hamon lead the company.

'Welcome to Ynys Mon,' he smiled broadly.

'It's certainly a magical place,' Godric replied, for the island simmered with ancient power. It wasn't hard to see why the druidic shamans had made Ynys Mon the heart of their culture.

'With a rich history,' Salazar agreed,

'Don't get too carried away,' Alain told them, 'Lughnasadh is a time for merriment, especially for the young. Just remember to temper your passions.' His gaze lingered on Salazar, who refused to meet his eye. After all, the young man's flirtatious behaviour had gained him a reputation in Avalon for a reason.

'Yes, Lord,' Godric answered for both of them, sensing Salazar's discomfort. Alain nodded,

'Also remember that although there is an old and sacred tradition which prohibits feuds and the spilling of the blood during the period the Wizengamot meets, wizarding Britain is fractured place, cursed by rival factions.'

'What faction do you stand for, Lord?' Godric asked his uncle curiously. Over his years at Avalon, Alain had always shown restraint when it came to discussing politics. It was a subject the Lord of Avalon had little love for, the realm of snakes and ambitious men gifted with silver-tongues.

'I suppose I support those who think we should stand with Muggles, who seek to use our magic to help and guide them. It was why I was chosen as the King's Grand-Sorcerer. I believe wizards and Muggles can live peacefully alongside one another. Look at our household in Avalon. Look at Hugh, who is a loyal friend, an honourable man and fiercer than any wizard in battle; think about what our kind could learn much from men such as him.'

'And not all wizards think like this?'

'Sadly not,' Alain admitted, his expression grim, 'a rival faction exists, one filled with those who think that our ability to weave magic makes us superior to common Muggles. They think we use our gifts to take power and rule Britain ourselves, free of persecution.'

'Is that such a bad thing?' Salazar commented lightly. Alain almost glared at his apprentice's nonchalant tone before dismissing without comment. He shrugged,

'It is when you consider that non-magical folk outnumber us by many thousands. Magic can do great things, but it has its limits. Any war would see our world destroyed, or twisted beyond all recognition. Besides, history tells us that wizards who use Muggle kings as puppets for their own ambitions always fall, with many wizards and Muggles alike being killed in the process. The misplaced superiority of wizards is a poison in our world,' he spat into the undergrowth which grew in thick lumps beside the path,

'But Muggles are quick to hate,' Salazar countered, repeating his mantra with the conviction of someone who had suffered from the prejudices of Muggles.

'And wizards always thirst for power,' Alain said pointedly, 'mark my words, nothing good comes out of the misguided beliefs like the superiority wizards, only pain and much suffering…'

It was obvious that Salazar remained sceptical. Godric, sensing an argument, quickly intervened,

'Are there any other factions?'

'Many,' Alain replied, 'which demonstrates how divided we are. All the factions have their own agendas and ambitions. There are even wizards whose beliefs are worse than those who believe in our superiority. They see Muggles as nothing better than animals and treat them as such. The fools sever all ties with the Muggle world. I have heard dark stories of their customs, where pride is taken from dark deeds and tournaments are held where like we do beasts and game, for their own twisted entertainment.' Alain looked revolted, whilst Godric was horrified and even Salazar looked sickened.

'How can they do such a thing?'

'Because dark wizards can weave many evils,' Alain sighed, 'hopefully such wizards will not be in great attendance. They usually shy away from such gatherings, fearing that the purity of their blood would be somehow sullied by their proximity to Muggleborns and blood-traitors. Fortunately, the more zealous of these wizards tend to shy away from great gatherings like Lughnasadh, especially with the Wizengamot attending.'

'Do they fear the Wizengamot?' Salazar asked inquisitively,

'I don't know if it is fear,' Alain said thoughtfully, 'but they'd be foolish indeed if they were not wary of angering us. It is well-known that only wizards of great standing can be elected to the Wizengamot.'

'And you are one?' Godric asked, impressed that his uncle could be counted amongst such an esteemed group.

'Yes, along with six others,' Alain smiled, 'for only seven Councillors can sit on the Wizengamot at one time. When one dies or is exiled, another is elected by the remaining Councillors to take their place. There are few honours in this world which exceed being judged worthy to ascend to the Wizengamot by the great and good of Britain. Gofanon 'the Wise', who has been the Law-speaker and head of the Wizengamot for over a score of years, was the wizard who encouraged by accession. He will be presiding over all affairs and maintaining the peace between the rival factions.'

'How?' Godric asked. It sounded impossible that factions which such differing beliefs could co-exist without any altercations taking place.

'Gofanon is a proud man, descended from a long line of Welsh wizards and his blood is purer than most. But, as is common in Wales, he is kin to many notable Muggle princes and lords, and can be sympathetic to them. He toes the line between the factions and as the most acclaimed member of the Council, he wields a power that all others fear to cross. Whilst Gofanon lives, the uneasy peace will last…' Alain fell silent. Godric was astounded at the fractional state of magical Britain. Peaceful Avalon seemed to be many leagues away as if inhabited another world entirely.

'How did the world get so disunited?'

'Britain is a seething cauldron, and the wizards of these islands hail from many cultures with different traditions, practices and prejudices. You have the Seidr, English, Welsh, Scots, Irish and Norman wizardry, all competing for dominance. Rivalry and hatred always stain such things,' Alain paused to scratch at the groomed greying beard which framed his jaw, 'but there are more deeply rooted problems which curse our world.'

'The problem,' Salazar continued, thoughtfully exhibiting his extensive knowledge of magical culture, 'lies with our traditions. Masters are expected to seek out apprentices at a young age and teach them their ways, including their beliefs. But when those apprentices come of age, they often owe their loyalty to their masters rather than our society as a whole. Powerful wizarding masters can spend years gathering followers, apprentices and dependents to use as supporters in their bids for power.'

'Surely not?' Godric said naively,

'Why are you so surprised?' Salazar laughed grimly. He gestured at Alain, 'look at how loyal we are to Lord Alain. Merlin forbid it, but if he made an attempt to seize power, do you think our loyalty would waver?'

'I'd consider myself a poor master if that was so, for I would have taught you nothing. Whilst loyalty to me and to each other is very valuable, your loyalty must be to the wizarding world. For the good of our community, you must always put society first.'

They drifted into silence after that, content to soak in and marvel at their surroundings. The colourfully adorned crowd, chattering in anticipation of the festivities ahead, meandering around low hills and past cultivated fields. The labouring Muggles and natives of the isle stalled whilst toiling in their cornfields to watch the extravagant procession of witches and wizards pass. However, they didn't seek to confront them. They knew that Ynys Mon was a mystical place which held a special significance to magical folk as well as knowing that wizarding affairs were for wizards alone and so kept their distance, fearing curses which could blight crops and malicious spells.

As they followed the throng, Alain began to point out the banners and emblems of prominent wizarding families,

'It seems the Blacks are here already,' Alain nodded, pointing to a banner emblazoned with three ravens, 'the Blacks are a family as old as any and are adept at playing the political field. The head of their house, Ranulph Black, is my peer on the Wizengamot. That means the Bigots will be close by; they never stray too far from their Black cousins. Look, there is the Peverall's stag…'

Alain began to list the great Norman wizarding families, reeling off names such as the Azors, the de Braose, Lestranges, Notts, Villons and Selwyns. He also pointed out those of different cultures who the procession strayed past. English families such as the Longbottoms, Abbots and other cousins of Celtic, Gaelic and Breton descent. The Lord of Avalon wryly noted that whilst he was the Lord of Avalon, it was an unpopular title with the remnants of English wizardry who still held an unforgotten grudge against Alain for his part in the harrying of their homeland. Scottish hedge-wizards and mages of the two prestigious schools of Irish magic were also expected to attend, such as aged heroes like Alain's peer on the Wizengamot, Trian of Tara, as well as wizards and witches who had earned a place on the council through reputation and famous deeds. It would also be a rich and prosperous opportunity and many merchants had travelled to Ynys Mon from foreign lands to trade their exotic wares for native luxuries.

Alain frowned, pausing as he pointed out the banners of many of the great wizards who would be attending the festival,

'Odd,' he commented lightly, 'I can't see any of Trian's banners…'

His thoughts were interrupted when Godric asked whether the Seidr wizards of the northern and western isles had come, Alain answered with a grimace.

'Undoubtedly,' the Lord of Avalon shrugged in distaste, 'or whatever is left of their more powerful families. Expect to see the Ragnarssons in attendance.'

'They'd come?' Godric was surprised,

'I believe they would. Their ambush was meant to leave none alive to spread the tale. It was also an attack on a Councillor of the Wizengamot and they know that I will seek retribution for it. They'll try to twist the truth in their favour, but the Ragnarssons lack a wizard of influence who can champion them on the Wizengamot. No one is more reviled in Britain than the Seidr, not even us Normans. As I've said, only a Councillor can bring a case before the Law-speaker and an attempt to take the life of a member of the Wizengamot, especially one acting in the interests of peace, is a grievous crime.'

'You sound confident, Lord,' Salazar noted,

'I am, Salazar,' Alain said with a small smile, 'although I'm not arrogant enough to claim that the proceedings will pass without difficulty. Especially with the news which has only recently reached my ears. Rumours abound that the Ragnarssons have thrown their support behind the faction which opposes me. Whether this was before the ambush or in the weeks which have followed is unknown to me. But I find it suspicious that it proceeded the rise of an influential power to speak for them, one who claims their blood is purer than any who live in Britain today,'

'Who is this wizard?' Godric asked,

'She's a witch actually,' Alain said grimly, 'and a very powerful one too, although I'm loath to admit it.' He ran a soothing hand through his horse's mane, who had become skittish as it was surrounded by the large crowd, before looking at his apprentices thoughtfully, 'her name is Melusine'.

'I have heard that name before,' said Salazar, frowning and thinking back to his lessons with Yusuf and Morwenna.

'I'm not surprised. Melusine has a soul darker than most. She claims to be the last living descendant of Merlin, through the illegitimate child he fathered on Nimue 'the Last' and there is some truth in the claim, for the legitimate lines that claimed Merlin as an ancestor all died out over a century ago.'

'She must be held in high esteem,' Salazar replied, 'if she is of Merlin's lineage.'

'Some do, though not as highly as she holds herself,' replied Alain casually, 'Melusine holds the honour of being the youngest person to ever be elected to the Wizengamot and her pride has never forgotten it. She has long believed that she deserves more than what life has offered her. She was forced to relinquish her seat on the Wizengamot when she was exiled from Britain for a grave crime and has only just been granted permission to return to these isles. That was many years ago, long before I was born. Indeed, she is almost as old as Gofanon and he was sired during the reign of Hywel Dda. But to look at, she is barely past forty years, as she has always been skilled at casting the enchantments needed to keep her forever young.'

'What was her crime?' Godric asked uneasily. As soon as Alain had mentioned Melusine's name, Godric had felt a chill shiver down his spine, as if ill omens lay behind the name.

'She murdered her father,' Alain said coolly, 'and he was a mighty lord amongst wizards. Her place on the Council was taken from her and she was cast out of Britain and forbidden to return for over a hundred years. She has lived in France ever since, using her charm and cunning to bring wizards and Muggles alike under her spell. Melusine has spent the best part of a century leeching from the great Muggle dynasties that rule that land and it is said that the many of these houses share her blood. I know that she only ever had one son who shared her gift for magic, a hideous thing which died young.'

'You speak as if you know her?'

'Our paths crossed once,' Alain frowned darkly, 'she is not fond of me. She believes that the Lordship of Avalon is hers by right of birth and so should have passed to her through the purity of her blood, rather than through the merit of another wizard. Melusine will never forgive me for Avalon. She is a very powerful and intelligent woman, with unrelenting ambition. Everyone is a pawn in her grand game, as she plays with supporters and enemies like a spider does with the prey caught in its web. She is a present day Medea. She was also Bellême's master.'

'What?' both boys spluttered disbelievingly,

'He was apprenticed to her in his youth, just like his mother before him,' Alain shook his head, 'Mabel of Bellême was amongst the worst of our kind, a vile and malicious witch. I believe she was mad, for she delighted in the suffering of others, using torture and poison on those who had displeased her. She most likely learnt this at Melusine's teaching and in the years since Melusine has passed these dark arts to rest of Mabel's sinister brood. Bellême owes loyalty to no man, not even the King. But if such a thing as loyalty exists in his soulless heart, then it belongs to Melusine.'

'Will Bellême come?' Godric asked quietly, his hand reaching for the reassuring presence of his wand. For all his brave words to Alain, Godric could not shake off the anxiety which chilled his blood at the thought of confronting Bellême again.

'Yes,' Alain admitted, sensing their disquiet, 'but you have little to fear in the week to come. He is not a member of the Wizengamot and even Bellême won't dare dishonour the ancient traditions which prohibit bloodshed during a gathering of Wizengamot. Still, it'd be best to keep your wits about. As the apprentices of the Lord of Avalon, you may have inherited my enemies and I have plenty enough who will be coming to Ynys Mon for Lughnasadh. If we are certain of anything, it is that the wolves are gathering…'

Alain slipped into silence as they rounded a small hillock and suddenly the great gathering stood before them. Ynys Mon was a low lying place except for a ridge of high hills to the north of the Holy Isle. From their position on the meandering path, a small plateau opened up into a large, shallow and tranquil lake. This was _Llyn Llywenan_ , the largest of Ynys Mon's mystical lakes, a place of tranquillity and with banks strewn with yew trees

What caught Godric and Salazar's eyes was a sprawling camp which expanded out from the lake and across the island's fertile fields. To their inexperienced eyes, it seemed that many thousands of their kind had travelled to this sacred place, although in reality there could have been no more than a thousand at most. Bright banners and colourful pavilions shone in the sunlight like an expansive sea, glistening with garish colours. It wasn't just Alain's squires who gaped and marvelled at the sight, for even the older veterans seemed to have been rendered speechless as they entered the huge crowds that bustled around it.

The Lord of Avalon soon established his camp to the south of the great lake, raising his banner beside one of the many burial mounds erected by the ancients who inhabited Britain long before the Old People came. Godric, Salazar and Hamon rushed to complete their duties, using magic and strong arms to raise Alain's own pavilion and tents with magic and strong arms. Finally growing weary of their youthful restlessness, Alain gave them permission to leave, telling them that his own magic could suffice in their absence and ordered them not to return until they had satisfied their desire to explore.

They spent the rest of the day exploring the wonders of Lughnasadh. The place shimmered with so much magic that it assaulted the senses. Pungent perfumes and exotic spices clung to the air and the camp echoed with laughter, excessive chatter and the growls and cries of mystical beasts. Wisps of multi-coloured smoke drifted up from charmed campfires, whilst the smell of shit and urine, which traditionally plagued large gatherings was noticeably absent, banished by spells. As they drifted through a shifting sea of people, whatever had ailed Salazar on the long journey to Ynys Mon slowly abated and he soon regained some of his old vigour as they soaked in the games, sports and culture on offer.

The Tailteann Games were an ancient and established part of Lughnasadh. The squires were instantly captivated by the martial feats being displayed in the mock wizarding duels. Godric seemed to be just as spellbound by the duelling wizards as the crowd of small children who had gathered to watch the display beside them. It was interesting for Godric to see the tactics and skills used by other wizards, for he had long since become familiar with the strengths, weaknesses and trademark moves of Alain's small retinue. However, the young wizard was experienced enough to know that any of the wizards they saw wouldn't last long in a duel against any of Alain's retinue. Salazar was scathingly derogatory about the skill on show whilst Hamon, sharing Godric's assessment, sensed an opportunity to earn more gold and insisted that Godric, as best of them when it came to martial prowess, should enter. Godric was truly tempted, but Hamon's pleas fell on deaf ears as the younger boy declined and was mocked for his modesty.

They moved on, ambling past exhibitions of rare magical creatures and entertaining shows put on for the enjoyment of the ever-growing crowds. One display was performed by a strange little bald man, garbed in a simple silk robe and whose skin was marked with ornate tattoos of striking design usually found far beyond the Silk Road in the distant reaches of the East. He executed small tricks with glowing potions and powders which exploded in a flash of sound and crackling light. The volume of the thunderous bang not only caused many of the onlookers to cry out but also startled a herd of grazing thestrals into stampeding over one of Ynys Mon's many sacred holy glades. When the culprit was sought by their breeder, Hama the Harbinger, and a thuggish band of fervent and drug-fuelled hedge-wizards, he had miraculously vanished along with all of his magical thunder-powder.

Another oddity came when they first discovered a new craze sweeping into their culture; the use of broomsticks. Figures soared over the crowds at great speeds in a competitive race and captivating their audiences. This was a new sensation, for brooms were traditionally used as a means of travel rather than a sporting tool and many wizards now sought to benefit from this emerging lucrative opportunity. When an opportunist merchant tried to coax the squires into testing the latest designs, only Godric was brave enough to volunteer. He enjoyed it immensely, especially the feeling of the wind whistling through his red hair and the overwhelming freedom the exhilaration gifted him. Yet, after he'd landed very unceremoniously in a heap, he quickly decided that as a would-be knight, he much preferred horsemanship and his feet firmly on the ground. Salazar had openly laughed at his expense,

'After all Lord Alain has done to stress the dangers we face by coming here,' he chuckled as they walked away from the disgruntled broomstick merchant, 'you disregard all his warnings about our enemies to tempt fate by flying on one of those absurd twigs…'

'You're exaggerating the risk,' Godric smiled,

'You'd be safer riding a dragon,' Salazar scoffed,

'Don't tempt him,' Hamon interjected, making them all smile knowingly. If anyone was foolhardy enough to brave riding a dragon, then it would probably be Godric. They continued their exploration, pausing to sample rich-tasting delicacies or for Hamon and Salazar to flirt shamelessly with the multitude of witches who were attending the festivities. Long hours being drilled in an assortment of physical exercise under Hugh's disciplined eye had gifted the squires the well-conditioned bodies of fighting men and now they were reaping the rewards, judging by the predatory and sultry glances they drew from passing women. Salazar and Hamon revelled in the attention, but Godric was more content to hover in the background and laugh at the antics of his friends, although he had been forced to dissuade Hamon from attempting to obtain some of the drug-fuelled herbs and paralysing smoke being consumed by a group of naked, moss-covered soothsayers from the Holy Roman Empire.

They turned away, laughing as the soothsayers rolled about haphazardly, mumbling and giggling incoherently when something suddenly collided with Hamon's shoulder, spinning him forcibly around. Staggering in shock at the unexpected contact, Hamon reeled as a voice snarled from close by,

'Bastard Muggle!'

Godric and Salazar turned as one to find a short, wide-chested man glowering heatedly in Hamon's direction. They instantly knew that this was a purposeful act, for all three wore the comfortable leggings and tunics more associated with Muggle attire and Hamon's Muggle heritage shone startlingly clear amongst the throng of magical folk who surrounded them.

Hamon recovered from his shock quickly and spun to confront the man. His opponent was quicker and a clenched fist was already flying towards Hamon's face with malicious intent. But the man wasn't as fast as Godric, which he soon discovered when he unexpectedly found his fist encased in a large strong hand before it could reach its intended target. The fist came to an instant stop. The man immediately turned on Godric, ready to launch himself at the youth. But his eyes widened at Godric's towering size and he wisely hesitated from throwing more punches. Godric bore no marks of his rank as the apprentice to the Lord of Avalon and he couldn't keep his surprise at the man's intimidated reaction at seeing him from showing. He'd expected a fierce retaliation of flailing fists. Instead, the man saw a broad-shouldered, tall young man looming over him and the look which shone in Godric's eyes seemed to momentarily quell the man's rage.

With one hand still encasing their attacker's arm, Godric stepped forward, impeding Hamon's enraged counter attack and using his greater size to shunt Hamon back as he eagerly attempted to retaliate. Hamon stumbled backwards and then leapt forward again, but Salazar swiftly intervened, holding up his arms to block his advance and placate his friend.

'Peace, Hamon,' Salazar told him firmly. Hamon blatantly disagreed, as his usually calm and friendly expression was now marred by fury.

'You keep filth like this as a slave?' the man snarled,

'As a friend,' Godric replied coolly. The man spat to show his opinion of that, before trying to release his hand from Godric's vice-like grip. It didn't budge.

'You're one to talk,' Salazar said coldly, 'what kind of a wizard would openly seek to dishonour the ancient traditions of the Wizengamot?'

'A wizard proud enough not to taint these sacred grounds with Muggle feet,' the man growled and again tried to force his arm from Godric's grip. This time, the younger wizard released it and the man staggered back before regaining his balance and glaring at the three squires.

'You seek to use your fists instead of your wand or words to settle an argument which you started,' Salazar responded disdainfully, 'how very Muggle of you!'

'Why you little bastard…' the man strode forward furiously, his twitching hand giving away his desire to draw his wand and curse the younger man. A smirk twitched at Salazar's lips,

'You'd really risk doing that?' he almost laughed mockingly.

'You think you could beat me?' the man sneered, eyeing Salazar's lean frame.

'Probably,' Salazar said carelessly, 'although I'm not stupid enough to break over a millennium of sacred traditions. But Godric here. Well, he'd tear you limb from limb'. Godric frowned at Salazar's insinuation that he was a violent brute, but he recognised the wisdom in Salazar's strategy so he didn't discount it. The man glanced at him warily, Godric's looming size dissuading him from trying anything. Then a mocking voice broke through the rising tension,

'Ever-ready for a fight, as always Ethelred?'

The quarrelling group were surprised to find that a small crowd had gathered around them. One onlooker had shouted out and now, unexpectedly, brought down the Ethelred's wrath on himself. Ethelred, the enraged man, who dismissed his previous issue with Hamon as the use of 'Ever-ready' seemed to tip him over the edge, locked eyes on the bemused onlooker and judged the chortling man as an easier target than the three squires he had been confronting. He roared like a bullock and charged, the crowd parting hurriedly and leaving the horrified onlooker to Ethelred mercy. Ethelred tackled him to the ground and launched blow after blow as the unfortunate onlooker desperately tried to scramble away and cried out for help.

Godric made to step forward and answer the call, but was stopped by Salazar, who dissuaded him from entering the fray,

'No need,' he whispered, shaking his head at Godric's questioning look, 'the watchmen are here'.

Salazar nodded to where a small band of purple-robed figures were pushing through the crowd towards the brawl. Once they had a clear view of the altercation, two spells issued forth to collide with Ethelred, flinging him away from his victim to land unconscious in the dust.

The watchmen circled the fallen wizard, their wands held casually at their sides as their captain strode forward and shook his head with wearied resignation,

'How did I know Ever-ready would be involved,' he grumbled, nudging the unconscious wizard with his boot, 'I've dealt with his shit too many times; he'll be paying a high price this time'. The captain glanced at where Godric, Salazar and Hamon stood suspiciously. His eyes soon found the silver apple heraldry emblazoned on Salazar's dark tunic and his reserved expression disappeared swiftly. He bowed his head before turning to the watching crowd,

'Piss off, the lot of you…don't you have better things to do,' he ordered as he walked away. His watchmen, the Wizengamot's hired keepers of the peace, followed him close behind, carting away a drooling Ethelred away.

Robbed of any violent sport, the disgruntled bystanders soon dispersed. As Alain's squires prepared to follow, a small figure momentarily caught Godric's eye. It was a short, golden-haired maid, who alone amongst the nearby spectators stood unmoving, watching them closely. As Godric's frowned when his gaze met hers, the girl's face broke into a mischievous, impish smile. Then she was gone, disappearing as quickly as she had come. Godric blinked dumbly, bewildered by the sudden apparition and her apparent interest in them. However, he had little time to contemplate the unsettling feeling that stirred in his chest for his friends were already moving on and beckoning for him to follow. He rushed to meet them, the girl's appearance soon forgotten.

The sun still shone brightly in the sky when they finally returned to the camp beside Llyn Llywenan's glistening waters, only to discover that the Lord of Avalon waited for them with a stony expression. He beckoned them to him and his squires answered readily, frowning and wondering what they had done to anger him. But as they reached Alain's side, he gestured towards a nearby yew-tree, where a brooding stranger lurked in its cooling shadow.

'Lord?' Salazar inquired instantly, staring curiously at the stranger.

'We don't have much time to talk,' Alain growled quietly, then ordered Hamon to fetch Godric and Salazar's finest cloaks. Once Hamon had hurried away, Alain turned back to his squires,

'Grave tidings have reached me. Trian of Tara is dead.' Godric and Salazar gaped at their lord in shock,

'The Irish lord on the Wizengamot?'

'Yes,'

'Was his death expected?' Salazar asked quizzically. Alain shook his head, speaking in a hushed whisper as he eyed the stranger cautiously.

'No. It was sudden. The rumours claim he dined on bad oysters, which soured his belly. He died soon after…' Salazar frowned, staring at Alain.

'You suspect foul play?'

Alain held their gaze and they saw grief and rage briefly contort his features at his old friend's death. Then he nodded and both boys paled.

'Keep these thoughts to yourselves. We cannot be certain. Trian was an old man by Muggle standards and men have died of stranger things. I can't talk for long, for I have been called away. Gofanon has appealed for his peers to meet at a secret council, for a new wizard must be chosen to take Trian's place, preferably before the Wizengamot meets in full. The Wizengamot would be considerably weakened if they met before a full gathering of wizards with our number lessened and others may seek to take advantage…'

Alain paused and seemed to turn grimmer with each passing second,

'Unfortunately, I have more grave news, brought to us by our friend there,' he nodded towards the stranger, 'we have received an invitation, courtesy of our dour friend. You have both been summoned to attend the Lady Melusine, who seeks an audience with you.' Godric and Salazar gaped, the former's hands clenching and the latter instinctively reaching up to reassuringly trace a finger over the familial heirloom hanging around his neck.

'Melusine?' Godric said dumbly,

'Yes,' his uncle nodded, his urgency betraying his concern, 'it's something we can't avoid. It would be considered a dire insult to reject her invitation.'

'What cause would she have to seek a meeting with us?' Salazar asked, the cogs of his clever mind working ceaselessly to pre-determine Melusine's motives.

'I suspect it's an opportunity to see what you are made of,' said Alain, unable to hide his concerns, 'and to make me squirm. We're all aware of what Melusine is capable of, but I can't imagine that she would seek to do you harm….not here with the great men and women of magical Britain gathered together.'

He clapped both boys on the back,

'But remember what I've told you. I don't know what Melusine's heart intends but I'd wager that it involves Avalon. She believes it should be hers. I believe she'd willingly do anything to claim my title. Melusine may try to entice or bewitch you to her cause, as she is still a beautiful woman and capable of flawless charm. Remember what I have said about the evil that lurks behind her fairness…' Hamon returned, his arms clutching Godric's scarlet and Salazar's emerald cloaks. As he passed them into their hands and they buckled them to their shoulders, Alain stared at his apprentices apprehensively,

'Don't accept anything from her. Mabel of Bellême wasn't the only witch adept with poisons. Think clearly and no matter what ill or evil words she spouts, do not let anger rule your heart. For of all the evil that lurks in Britain, Melusine is the most dangerous…'

* * *

Here is the first chapter of about seven or eight which I hope to upload over the next couple of weeks. Branching out into the world of medieval magic now and some recognisable names should be making an appearance. I'll try and get the next one up as soon as possible! Feel free to comment...


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Faces of the Enemy

**Faces of the Enemy**

Godric and Salazar trailed behind Melusine's follower as he weaved through the bustling crowds. He was heading towards where the infamous witch had set up her camp. The man was impeccably dressed, his dark hair oiled and to the tunic which hid his warrior physique was perfumed. He strode about with the assured arrogance of someone born into the landed nobility. It radiated from him and Godric could not shake the sensation that the man's broad, glowering face looked oddly familiar. Salazar was similarly dressed for the occasion, with his fine emerald cloak hanging from his lean shoulders and the silver locket of the Slytherin family at his breast. Compared to them and apart from his tailored scarlet cloak, Godric looked more like a servant rather than an apprentice to one of the most prestigious lordships in Wizarding Britain.

Godric quickened his pace until he had drawn up beside Salazar,

'What's happening?' he whispered, his head still reeling from what Alain had told them.

'Trian of Tara is dead,' Salazar answered,

'But what does his death mean?'

'It means that there is now a vacant seat on the Wizengamot, a seat which needs to be filled before the Council meets…'

'So that is why Alain is meeting with the other Councillors,' Godric pondered, 'to elect a new leader,'

'Exactly,' Salazar confirmed, 'and Lord Alain is concerned. With only a few days to decide, he fears that the Wizengamot will rush the decision. Trian was also an ally of Alain's faction. With him dead, then any wizard's name could be put forward, which could potentially mean that a rival or enemy of Alain's could ascend to the position.'

'Lord Alain suspects foul play?'

'Quiet,' Salazar said in a hushed whisper, eying Melusine's man cautiously, 'that's a serious accusation, one which should not be talked about so carelessly. We cannot know for certain whether Trian was murdered or not. But if Trian was killed and someone is willing to go to such lengths to dispatch an esteemed wizard like him, then our world is in a sorry state. No one is safe, not even the Wizengamot.'

Godric fell silent to consider Salazar's gloomy forecast.

'What do you think Melusine want with us?'

'I have no idea,' Salazar shrugged, 'to test us maybe…'

'What do you expect will happen?' Godric pressed him,

'Either we talk or she tries to murder us…'

'Do you think that's likely?'

'I'm not particularly looking forward to any of those outcomes.'

Melusine's man had just led them to a large, glowing pavilion. Large warhorses were stabled nearby. A selection of banners flew on high standards and Godric recognised the Bellême coat-of-arms of a triumvirate of fortified towers amongst them, as well as the White-Falcon of the Ragnarssons. Some of Melusine's dependants lounged nearby and watched them approach. Although they leered menacingly, they soon grew bored when neither Godric nor Salazar reacted timidly to the intimidation. When they reached the pavilion's entrance, Melusine's man lifted the flap and ducked inside, pausing to indicate that Alain's apprentices should follow. Crossing the threshold, Salazar hesitated and laid a hand on Godric's arm,

'Let me take the lead'. Godric simply nodded in silent agreement. This strategy made sense. Salazar was intelligent, charming, sociable and knowledgeable in pureblood traditions, which all combined to make him a gifted orator. Godric's blunt honesty and preference for the truth would only hinder them, with potentially fatal consequences.

When they entered, both young men were momentarily struck speechless by the pavilion's interior décor. It was a marvel of magic, many times larger than the pavilion's exterior would have led them to believe. They found themselves in a single room, decorated like the tricliniums of ancient Roman villas. Unnatural light shone from an unknown source, glistening off the studded mosaic beneath their boots as if the room basked in a blazing sun. Swirling fumes drifted up from scented and burning incense sticks and in one corner, water fountained up between two courting nymphs expertly sculptured from the finest marble. Charms kept out the clamouring noise of bustling crowds, giving the room an otherworldly appeal far removed from the festivities raging nearby. In the room's centre stood a canvas made of linen cloth and held up by spear poles. Beneath this canvas lounged three figures, who lay in the limited shade offered by the linen sheets. Two were men. The first was a tall, well-groomed and handsome man with the build of an athlete. He looked at the newcomers with indifference. On the other hand, his companion's was slightly shorter, and had the broad figure of a brawler, with a wild looking face covered in a dark tangle of hair. His beady, suspicious eyes narrowed immediately as they entered.

The third figure was female and on first glance, perhaps the fairest woman either boys had ever beheld. A smile instantly dazzled them as the woman leapt up from the kline she had been resting upon, springing gracefully to her bare feet before hurrying to greet them, her fair hair swinging in its knotted braid. As she reached the two stunned youths who stood at the room's entrance, they saw that she looked no older than forty years. Only her large eyes belied her age, strangely violet coloured and swirling with the wisdom of a hundred years, yet still capable of captivating the hearts of many men.

'The famous apprentices of Avalon,' she greeted them genially, her voice like music to their ears as she clapped her hands together in pleasure, 'I've been told you are impressive for men so young and I am not disappointed.'

She quickly embraced them both. Godric fought his rising flush as he felt her press her curved body into his, blinking as her intoxicating perfume assaulted his senses.

'This one could be Andros the Invincible reborn,' she complimented, smiling widely with her arms still draped lightly around him.

'It is an honour, Lady Melusine,' Salazar interjected smoothly, 'too have been granted an audience with you'. He bowed his head eloquently and Godric followed his lead. The two friends knew each other's strengths. In battle, it would be Godric leading, but Salazar truly excelled in environments such as this. Melusine smiled at Salazar,

'You can leave us now, Philip, that will be all,' she dismissed the follower who brought them there. Philip bowed and swiftly exited, although Godric suspected that he would lurk close to the veil in case his mistress called him. Once Philip had disappeared, Melusine gestured for her guests to follow as she led them to the shaded canvas at the room's centre. She laid back down on the kline and with an effortless swish of her wand, two more appeared for Godric and Salazar to seat themselves. Godric felt discomforted by the experience, having never sat on a kline before and after spending a few heartbeats shuffling embarrassingly, he eventually settled on sitting with his legs crossed beneath him. Salazar followed Godric's example, although he performed it more gracefully than Godric ever could. Another wave of her wand and a tray laden with food and wine appeared before them. She urged them to dine until they were content. Neither made a move to take it.

'Our thanks, Lady,' Salazar said smoothly, 'but we have recently eaten.'

'It's not poisoned,' Melusine said lightly, still smiling at them. She sounded amused as she leant over, picked up a ripe fruit and delicately placed it into her mouth. Her gaze never strayed from them as she licked the juices from her lips, 'if that is the reason for your caution?'

'Why would it be?' countered Salazar,

'Oh, no reason,' she replied, 'but malicious rumours do have a habit of following me'.

'That surprises me,' Salazar noted courteously, 'for I have only heard tales of your beauty. For once the poets do not exaggerate'. Melusine laughed at that,

'You are a born courtier,' Melusine remarked in amusement, 'I have always been fond of courteous men. Alas, most men of our time think that hammering each other with swords and wands is the best means of impressing a woman.' Her eyes flickered to Godric, then she turned to the two men she had been entertaining before Godric and Salazar's arrival. Melusine introduced the fairer of them as Thorvald Ragnarsson and the wild-looking man as Thorvald's cousin Killer-Bjorn. Their names caused a crescendo of alarms to sound in Godric's mind…the Ragnarssons? He had little doubt that these men were related to the wizard he had slain in the woods of the north. The scowl which appeared to be a permanent feature of wild Killer-Bjorn's face intensified as it focused on Godric, who returned it tenfold. Whether this was due to a grudge or was more to do with Melusine's little flirtations, Godric was unable to decide. His heart sank as Melusine described her companions as Icelandic princes.

'I was under the impression,' Salazar interrupted casually, 'that there were no princes in Iceland?'

'We are the equivalent of princes,' the fair man coldly replied,

'Powerful landowners may be a more appropriate term,' Melusine corrected herself. She lifted a hand and traced her fingers across Thorvald's cheek in a gentle caress, staring fondly at him, 'Thorvald came to Britain after he had been unfairly disposed of his lands for little more than defending his honour. As a consequence for his actions, lesser men drove him away from that cold place. To my fortune and gratitude, he has sworn his loyalty to me. He's certainly a champion amongst wizards.'

Thorvald raised a hand to grasp Melusine's gently, with the familiarity of a lover. To Godric's eyes, the look Melusine gave him was more like that of a master regarding a trusted and obedient hound, rather than a lover's candid exchange. A flash reflected from a small ring when it caught the gleam of the unnatural light, painting an emblazoned pale bird of prey in sharp relief. Godric tensed and his hand twitched towards his wand. Killer-Bjorn mirrored the action, but Salazar wisely intervened. He nudged Godric painfully in the ribs, returning the younger squire to his senses. Godric risked a glance at his friend, who gave him a warning look which told him to guard his temper, before returning his attention to their host, who was still watching them with a wide smile. Fortunately, she decided not to comment on the small exchange, swiftly changing the subject,

'What handsome wizards you both are,' she said complimentarily before her gaze fell on the glowing locket about Salazar's neck, 'that is beautiful locket.'

'It was my mothers,' Salazar admitted,

'It must be very important to you?' she summarised, recognising the possessiveness that Salazar was unable to completely mask, 'I imagine that the snake is a familial device…you are a Slytherin are you not?'

'Yes, Lady,'

'I thought the Slytherins died out a decade ago?'

'Most did, Lady,' Salazar said calmly, 'I am the last'.

'How sad,' she answered, generally sounding aggrieved by the tragedy, 'the Slytherins were an ancient family and there are few wizards who could claim that their blood is as pure as yours. I grieve for your loss.'

'Thank you, Lady,'

'And you, Godric, what great lineage do you hail from?'

'I am Lord Alain's nephew, Lady,'

'What about your parents?' Her eyes were glinting with amusement and Godric sensed that she already knew his answer.

'Muggles, Lady,' He challenged her. Her smile didn't falter,

'How interesting,' she commented, her voice containing little of the warmth she had shown Salazar's heritage, 'some say that wizards of Muggle birth are inferior to those born with purer blood. Yet, the rumours say your power is great. I wonder at your potential. It is a cruel thing that Alain kept you hidden for so long. Just think how you could have prospered under the influence of others.'

'Our thanks, Lady,' responded Salazar, acknowledging her compliment with a practised smile,

'How is dear Alain? It is many years since I last saw him. Indeed, he has risen far since then, as it was before he became Lord of Avalon.'

'He is thriving, Lady'

'And he has reclaimed his title of Grand-Sorcerer to the King of England has he not?'

'Indeed, Lady,'

'Surprising,' Melusine replied, 'some may say there were better candidates available. Alas, Alain has always had a startling habit of hobbling into good fortune'.

It was said lightly, but Godric still bristled at the sly reference to Alain's limp, a wound given to him by this woman's own former apprentice.

'That is for the King to decide, Lady,' replied Salazar, seemingly unaffected by Melusine's barbed comment. Godric couldn't boast of the same reaction and he had to bite his tongue from responding in kind.

'William always did play favourites,' Melusine scoffed in amusement, 'his court is full of pampering fools and the purring sodomites he favours so highly. I hope he hasn't got Alain on too tight a leash.'

'His duties keep him busy enough,'

'I imagine they do, with such promising apprentices under his tuition. You are both fortunate to have grown up in Avalon. I also spent my youth there.' Her smile widened as she saw the flicker of surprise in their eyes, 'Yes, alongside my sisters and our mother, I too once basked in the magic of Avalon and swam in its sacred pools. It is a magnificent place, rich in secrets. Tell me, is it true that the scholar Yusuf-al-Qurtubi calls Avalon his home?'

'It is, Lady,' Salazar replied, frowning slightly at the sudden change in the trajectory of the conversation. Like Godric, he was bemused at why a lauded witch such as Melusine would be interested in a scholar like Yusuf. Melusine sipped her wine,

'I have heard that his collection of fabled works is the greatest since those of Columba the Monk in the dark days?'

'On my honour, Lady, it is a truly magnificent collection. I'd wager it was Yusuf's life work.'

'You are very fortunate indeed,' she explained, her violet eyes twinkling, 'the accumulation of knowledge has always been an interest of mine. I must confess that my heart stirs at the thought of what long forgotten secrets it may hold.'

'Only Yusuf could know its true extent, Lady.' Salazar told her. Godric remained silent, content to let Salazar continue. Then as Melusine's gaze met his, he unintentionally flinched as a sharp sting assailed his mind. Frowning at the sensation, he rubbed his head, trying to fruitlessly locate the sudden intrusion. He didn't see his friend's eyes narrowing as he himself locked eyes with the witch. Whilst her genial expression didn't change, her gaze visibly sharpened.

'Are you aware,' she continued casually, 'that I am the last living descendant of Merlin. Because of this, some wizards say that it is my birth-right to be Lady of Avalon.'

'Some wizards have idle tongues,' Salazar replied coolly. He shrugged as if her proclamation was of no consequence, 'Lord Alain past the trials and was judged worthy of the title…'

'And how was I meant to attempt it when I was exiled in Britain?' Melusine scoffed,

'For killing your father!' Godric finally broke his silence, angry at the disrespect the witch was showing towards Alain by suggesting he was somehow unworthy and inferior. Both of Melusine's Icelandic companions tensed and Killer-Bjorn growled angrily whilst Salazar shot his friend another warning look. Melusine's gaze was cold and her smile turned icy, but her raised hand cooled her companions rising tempers.

'So the young cub has claws,' she finally replied dismissively, 'I was beginning to think you were simple. I have heard of you, Godric of Avalon; my friend Robert of Bellême sends his greetings. I must say his description of you doesn't bare any resemblance to the young man before me. I was expecting a mewling weakling…'

Salazar interrupted, silencing Godric before he could reply,

'Please accept my apologies for my friend's behaviour,' he said slickly, 'he has become a proud man who has risen above all our expectations. He spoke in haste and regrets it, I promise you.'

Melusine continued to stare at Godric mockingly. Godric felt as if her gaze was penetrating his very soul and he shifted uncomfortably, glowering. Melusine laughed,

'Yes, I can tell he regrets it,' she chuckled dryly, 'but I shall overlook it…this once. Others haven't been so fortunate. But I can sense that you both are powerful wizards. This potential encourages me to be lenient. If you wished it, I could help you prosper by expanding your education?'

'We already have tutors,' Godric growled,

'Do not be too hasty to dismiss what I offer you,' Melusine chastised him, 'I have spent decades studying the very nature of magic, from the greatest to the darkest arts. I recognise the desire and ambition for greatness that stirs in both of you. With me as your master, I could help you achieve immortality.'

'Lady,' Salazar replied, 'again you do us honour. But we are loyal to Lord Alain. It would be gravely dishonourable for us to forsake everything he has given us in order to join you.'

Melusine slipped into silence, content to watch them as she nibbled at a morsel of spiced meat languished on her plate. Once again, the niggling sense of intrusion returned and Godric shifted at the uncomfortable feeling, although he was too proud to let his discomfort noticeably show.

'You love him don't you?' she finally asked and laughed gently when Godric and Salazar nodded, 'how amusing. Alain was always able to inspire loyalty in weak-willed men.'

'He's a great wizard,' Salazar replied, unable to resist scowling at her scathing criticism.

'But what of his heritage?' she asked them, the tone behind the smile sobering, 'Alain is no pure-blood. He was born in a thatched barn in the backwater of Normandy and apprenticed to a Breton fool. Yet he is afforded some of the noblest titles in our world? It is a scandal. What has Alain achieved to deserve such prestige? Apart from being the lover of sprites. He has sullied the sanctity of Avalon with his perverse union with that creature…'

Godric visibly bristled, his anger sparking. Salazar was better at hiding it, although Godric noted how Salazar tensed and his eyes flashed at Melusine's insults to Morwenna, the woman who had done so much for both young men, 'That title rightly belongs to me. I am the descendant of both Merlin and Nimue, two rulers of Avalon, through the child that she bore him'.

'An illegitimate child,' Salazar reminded her casually

'And what of it?' Melusine challenged him, her eyes narrowing but the ever-present smile remaining, 'they were both of magical blood. Haven't the legitimate bloodlines of Merlin died out? The strongest remain and mine is the only one to survive; my blood is purer than any who now live in Britain!'

'But wasn't Merlin born to non-magical folk?' Salazar countered. Godric looked at his friend, marvelling at his knowledge of ancient bloodlines as Salazar continued, his voice slowly rising, 'yet, through merit he became the greatest wizard in a millennium. Lord Alain may not have the purest blood, but through his actions, he has proved his greatness. You say he is unworthy, yet this comes from a woman whose rise to power has left a road of shattered lives behind her.'

A long silence fell between them.

'You think you know much about Merlin?' The two squires exchanged a glance. They knew more than most, having braved Merlin's caves, found his tomb and battled the evil which Nimue had left lurking there, 'of course you do; I can see it in your eyes. You grew up in his stronghold and hold him up on such an esteemed pedestal, calling him the greatest of wizards.'

Her voice grew cold,

'Tell me, apprentices of Avalon, did you know that Nimue was just twelve years old when Merlin first took her to his bed and raped her? He was her senior by at least sixty years, yet he took her as his lover. She was just fourteen when she was impregnated by him. If you were Nimue, wouldn't you hate that man too; wouldn't you hunger for revenge. Yet how was she rewarded for her deeds? How was she treated after ridding the world of the man who had raped her? She was cast out; exiled by lesser wizards. Does this change your opinion of Merlin? Can you understand Nimue's hatred now?'

Melusine suddenly laughed harshly,

'Of course you can't,' she mocked them, 'what do young men know of the struggles of women?' Salazar didn't reply, convinced that Melusine was trying to lure him into some trap that he would need all his wit to escape.

'Alain is made of similar stock,' she snapped derisively, 'nothing more than a petty wizard who hoards Avalon's secrets like a goblin does gold. How many people has Alain trampled on? How many has he butchered to rise so high? Yet your misguided hearts hold him dear and think much of his nobility because he is a wizard, whilst I was exiled because self-important wizards feared the gifts of a powerful young witch whose only crime was to rid the world of a weak-minded and wretched man! The wizards of Britain today are little different than they were a hundred years ago!' Like Salazar before her, Melusine's voice had grown sharper with each word she uttered.

'He was still your father,' Godric pointed out harshly. Melusine's eyes blazed as they bore into him,

'Have you ever thought ill of your own father at one time in your life?'

That robbed Godric of any reply he may have used to counter her argument, his heart wrenching. Any mention of his own imperfect father still felt like a physical blow to Godric's emotions.

'Yes,' said Melusine, her sly smile still hovering at her lips, 'I killed my father. Elynas was a champion of his kind and my mother was besotted from the first moment they met. Then, when she bore him three little girls instead of a son, he cast us aside to pursue other lovers who could give him a son. My mother, poor broken Pressyne, fled to Avalon, our ancestral home. In her desperation for a haven, she was given refuge in Avalon. I spent my youth basking in the light of the Isle of Apples and dreamt the dreams of most young maidens; of poetry, power and a handsome lover. But unlike my spiritless sisters, loyal Melior and sweet Palatyne, I was born with a will of iron. At fifteen, I demanded to know the truth and my mother finally told me of Elynas's broken promises. For years, I had watched my mother grow weak and old because of this bitter betrayal and I hated Elynas for it. I soon learnt that I had a gift for hating. I hungered for revenge and spent months plotting my father's demise. I have never suffered fools and Elynas was the lord of fools. Years passed and as my power grew, so did my reputation. At twenty, I was elected to the Wizengamot, the youngest in its history and a deed few women have ever achieved. I abandoned Avalon and hunted Elynas down. I discovered him in the company of a young family, my half-brothers, sisters and the whore he left my mother for. My hate engulfed me and before nightfall, they were all dead. I saved Elynas until last and I killed him cruelly, robbing him of everything that made him a man and I revelled in his screams for mercy…'

Melusine looked away and for the first time, that leering smile faltering. For a moment, Godric thought she actually regretted her youthful bloodlust.

'…my mother supported those who exiled me from Britain, heart-broken by my crime. I don't know how I survived those early years, roaming across Europe and depending on the charity of the great houses of Christendom. For more than a century, I have been exiled from my home and judged for a deed that hounds my conscious…' Melusine sniffed once and brought the tale to a close. She looked surprisingly vulnerable and the scowls from her Icelandic companions deepened, who clearly blamed their guests for the witch's distressed demeanour. It was an act that which almost fooled them,

'A tragic tale,' Salazar droned disrespectfully. Godric looked at him in surprise, then turned back to Melusine. Her sudden grief had vanished in the blink of an eye, replaced by a smirk which openly flouted her pitiless nature. Those violet eyes held no remorse.

'What is it, Salazar Slytherin. Did my tale shock your innocent ears?'

'No,' Salazar answered coolly, 'it revolted me'. Melusine cackled,

'Then it will please you to learn the truth. I did not stumble upon them, but ensnared Elynas's whore and her offspring to lure him out of his stronghold; did you want to know that I laughed as I slit their pretty throats in front of him; that I tortured him until he pleaded for death as a release from his agony…'

It did more than shock; it revolted them and they finally realised that Alain's warnings were true. This woman was deadly. Both Godric and Salazar had been denied a family by the cruelty of life and now they felt consumed by a righteous anger. Once again, Godric saw the sight of the forester and his small daughter, murdered by kin of the men lounging before him now. He could almost picture the innocents Melusine had murdered so brutally that day and felt a cold fury that desired to revenge them.

'Do you feel nothing for those you've killed?' Godric snapped in revulsion,

'Do you?' Melusine laughed. She knew she had lost them, so she leapt onto the offensive. When Godric stumbled and turned deathly pale as the witch's smile leered at him, 'so the lion roars, or should I say whimpers. Look at you, little cub, mewling like a kitten. Now I can see that you truly are of the same muddied blood as Alain of Avalon…'

Godric growled, the beast inside him threatening to explode, whilst Melusine laughed scornfully,

'Sometimes you remind me of myself, all fire and brimstone. I too was once like you, then I remember that you were born to Muggle scum in some filthy hovel and so will always be my inferior…'

'I swear…' Godric snarled as his wand-hand twitching. Killer-Bjorn was grinning broadly, a wild look in his eye at the prospect of bloodshed whilst Thorvald remained grim. But they were ignored by the witch, who needed neither champion to aid her hurtful tongue,

'Swear what? Swear that you'll kill me?' She laughed disparagingly, 'Promises are easy to make but much harder to accomplish. I once swore that one day I would reclaim my blood right…'

'You would go against the might of Avalon?' asked Godric. Melusine smile was deadly, like a wolf toying with a crippled lamb,

'I have heard that Trian of Tara is dead and that the Wizengamot plans to elect his replacement before the Council meets. Alain's list of allies is thinning and his influence crumbles. There are many who are disillusioned with the governance of the present Councillors and would celebrate their downfall. If this comes to pass, other wizards must rise to supplant them.'

'Like who, Lady?'

'Wizards of worth,' Melusine answered, 'my former apprentice has shown an interest in ascending to the Wizengamot. After all, he is the greatest Fae-Knight in Britain…'

'And who will be the power behind Bellême, Lady?' Salazar interrupted her. Melusine seemed momentarily taken aback by the swiftness of Melusine's mind and although she glanced at him scathingly, she pointedly ignored him.

'Alain won't always be there to save you, boy,' she coldly remarked to Godric, 'I've heard that you have many enemies Godric of Avalon, too many. Can you really afford another?'

'Is that a threat?'

'No, simply a reality of life.' Godric discovered that he wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile from her fair face.

'In your opinion,' said Salazar,

'You're just as arrogant as your friend,' she told him scornfully, 'You really believe that Avalon is invulnerable. In my exile, I learnt the consequences of such a belief. Nothing lasts forever,'

'Your beauty does,' Thorvald said dutifully. Melusine rolled her eyes at her lover's praise and patted him on the cheek fondly,

'Fool,' she said, 'men were once blinded by my beauty…'

'Beauty dulls with age,' muttered Salazar, purposefully raising his voice so that Melusine could hear him clearly. The witch's attention snapped back to Salazar and a quick flare of rage shone from those piercing eyes. They flickered to the serpent emblazoned on his locket,

'The serpent suits you,' she said coldly. Salazar returned her smile,

'Undoubtedly,' he told her proudly. Melusine stared at him,

'If that was the insult I believe it was intended to be, then what would stop me from killing you both now?'

'And break the sacred traditions of the Wizengamot?' Salazar chuckled, 'you may be a cold-hearted killer, Lady, but you're anything but a fool. You may dismiss the power of Avalon, but there can be no victory if you face the whole might of Britain combined.'

'But you'd be dead, so it would matter little...'

'And you soon after,'

'Your arrogance astounds me!'

'Lady, I beg you to desist,' Salazar pleaded, 'I'm blushing...'

Godric bit back a laugh. He was stunned by Salazar's brazen disregard for decorum. It was astoundingly out of character, but then Godric finally caught a glimpse of Salazar's grey eyes and realised that they burned with the same chilling fury which was mirrored in his own soul. After all the insults levelled at his loved ones, Salazar's patience with the prestige of noble blood had finally worn thin and now he wielded his cutting wit with deadly efficiency. Melusine reflected his gaze with equal fire,

'I could order the Ragnarssons to split you from jaw to groin…'

'Are your tame dogs supposed to frighten us?'

'You'd make an enemy of me, Slytherin?' she hissed, her smile thinning, 'that is a foolhardy task. I'm a dangerous enemy to have…'

'So am I!'

Melusine almost cackled at that.

'You expect me to fear you,' she spluttered contemptibly,

'I'm not so arrogant that I'd assume you do,' replied Salazar, 'you'll never fear me as much as you do your true enemy, for you fear time more than any man…' At long last, Melusine's smile finally succumbed to Salazar's barbed words.

'What did you say?' she said icily. Salazar's eyes lit up and his smirk widened,

'Have I touched a nerve?'

'You have a sharp mind, _boy_ , one day it'll be the end of you'.

'Most likely,' Salazar acknowledged, 'but you'll be long dead by then. Time stops for no one.'

'It will for me,' Melusine suddenly hissed viciously, throwing aside the demure act she had displayed so far fleeing instantly. A heavy silence fell on the gathering as the two young men frowned at her statement. What that was supposed to mean, Godric thought, and he could tell that Salazar's clever mind was also scrutinising the meaning behind Melusine's assertions. Melusine seemed to realise her mistake,

'You've got much promise, Slytherin,' Melusine admitted through gritted teeth, reining in her budding anger, 'that I'll give you. I wonder if you'd be so brave without the protection of the killer sat beside you.' She gestured dismissively at a scowling Godric, 'but my man and his cousin would cut you down. Yes, I know of your deeds, Godric, the killer of men. After all, you killed the kinsman of the men sat beside me. They thirst for revenge and Killer-Bjorn here has sworn to revenge his kin by taking your life and drinking your blood. Honour demands it. He would have killed you already if he hadn't sworn an oath to obey my command and wished to test your loyalty before seeing you killed.'

Salazar returned her forced smile,

'We're apprenticed to Lord Alain of Avalon. We're hard to kill…'

'I've killed greater men than you,' she warned them,

'That doesn't surprise me,' Salazar noted tersely, 'I know your history, Lady Melusine, and it is a tale littered with corpses. Besides, your dogs aren't armed…' Killer-Bjorn made to stand, spittle snarling from his mouth. He looked ready to leap at them and throttle them with his bare hands, but Thorvald, evidently the more level-headed of the two, forced him back down onto the kline with a strong hand.

'I have seen Godric in battle,' Salazar continued, 'and as you say, he is a born warrior. He would win.'

Godric marvelled at Salazar's faith in him. Like all brotherly relationships, they expressed their feelings through boisterous comradery and ruthless mockery. His friend had never so openly admitted he held Godric's martial prowess in such high regard.

'You have a lot of confidence in your pet mud-blood,' Melusine snapped derisively, 'I wonder if it is misplaced?'

'Godric would win,' Salazar reiterated slowly as if he spoke to a slow-minded child rather than a witch who had inhabited this world for longer than a century, his voice unfaltering and his certainty never wavering.

'You have courage,' Melusine said begrudgingly, 'I will enjoy seeing it crushed. Your downfall will gladden my heart. You are astoundingly misguided; I expected it from this Mud-blooded fool, but you Slytherin, no…I expected more of a man of your heritage.'

Salazar shrugged,

'I'm as good a man as Alain has made me'.

'You think Alain is a good man?' Melusine scoffed acidly, 'How ignorant you both are. Tell me, have you heard the name Hugh Brunel?' Godric and Salazar's hesitant silence was telling and Melusine's wolfish smile returned, barring a line of perfect teeth, 'mention him to your master, especially about what he did to Mabel of Bellême, who was like a daughter to me.'

'How can we ask him, Lady…' answered Salazar coldly, dismissing her request, 'when you have threatened us with death?'

'Oh, I won't kill you here. They were just careless words, spoken in the heat of the moment. No, I like to enjoy watching the men I dislike die,' Melusine said, 'why waste the entertainment? I like to make people suffer, even when they beg for mercy. Only when they are near the end and I have acquired all their secrets do I finally destroy them.' Her words were sharper than any sword Godric could hope to wield and her eyes flashed with deadly intent.

Suddenly the mental intrusion returned with the force of a battling ram, this time like a battling ram. Godric gasped and physically reared as the magical pressure on his mind intensified for the briefest heartbeat. A foreign force was invading his mind, he was certain of it, for he was assaulted by memories long thought hidden but which now flashed to the forefront of his mind. However, having been repeatedly stoked throughout this long clash of words, Godric's magic now stirred to his defence. His volatile magic flared instinctively to the invasion and reacted by fiercely lashing out at the alien influence like a dragon protecting its lair.

The intrusion fled as quickly as it came, the pressure on his mind ebbing away with its hurried retreat. Melusine flinched and broke her piercing gaze. She glanced at Salazar and saw that whilst he remained smiling, his eyes glared with rage. Salazar knew exactly what magic Melusine had used on Godric, although he couldn't help the modicum of awe he felt for the witch's ability to weave wandless magic with such precise finesse. On entering Melusine's lair, he had immediately strengthened his own mental barriers to ward against it and throughout this meeting he had felt the faintest of disturbances brushing against his mental walls, his shields too daunting a task for even Melusine to attempt to breach in secret.

'You can try,' he told her coldly.

Melusine sprang gracefully to her feet and called out for Philip to attend to her. Her Icelandic companions remained unmoving.

'I believe it is time for you to depart'.

'You are right,' Salazar agreed readily, purposefully failing to address her by her noble title, for in his eyes there was nothing noble about this foul creature before. Similarly, Melusine offered no parting embrace, the enthusiasm of her initial greeting having long since disappeared, 'Lord Alain will be requiring our presence'.

'He must need your help often. I'd expect nothing less from a cripple,' Melusine added snidely. She gestured at Godric in disdain, 'be sure to take this pitiful creature with you. I enjoyed our little talk, though I profess that I am disappointed. I hoped that even ' _the cripple_ ' wouldn't sully his honour by helping a Mud-blood learn magic. I look forward to seeing you again when the Wizengamot meets…' as they turned to leave, Melusine called out, 'Remember Slytherin, blood will out!'

'Until then,' Salazar nodded as the dour Philip, strode into the pavilion to lead them out. The last thing they saw was Melusine's wolfish smile before the flap closed behind them.

When they exited the pavilion, the sun still blazed in the sky. They hovered outside it, savouring the refreshing air after the stifling tension and incense-filled atmosphere in Melusine's makeshift domain. Salazar released a shuddering breath, a mixture of fear, nervousness and adrenaline flooding out of his tensed body in one swift motion,

'Merlin but I'm glad that's over…'

'Is it?' Godric asked bitterly,

'No,' Salazar sighed, 'I suppose it's not…'

Salazar paused, a smirk flickering at corner of his handsome face, which in the natural light of day seemed paler than usual,

'I see you're no longer _Andros the Invincible_ in Melusine's eyes'

'Shut up,' Godric said exasperatedly, knowing that he'd never live the comparison with such a famous ancient wizard, 'besides, I'd be surprised if she sees us as anything other than potential prey…'

'True enough,'

The two squires, keenly aware of Philip's presence lurking nearby and watching them coldly, began to walk away towards the lake. However, as they reached a small stone boundary marker, engraved with freshly scrawled carvings and runes, a rider thundered into the small clearing between the colourful array of tents. He was dressed in the garb of a knight, with a dark cloak hanging from his shoulder, a helm fixed to his head and a sword clattering at his hip. Dust stained his armour and sweat dripped from a bright ringed hauberk like morning dew on forest leaves. He was a huge man, tall and broad, a paladin of war.

His mount jerked to a stop, kicking up a cloud of dust as it came to an abrupt stop, blocking their path.

'Brother,' he called to Philip with uncharacteristic cheer. The rider's gaze slipped to the squires of Avalon and he frowned, not knowing them at first. Then he saw the silver apple emblazoned on Salazar's tunic and he snorted derisively as recognition dawned. The younger men needed no introduction, for Robert of Bellême was a figure etched in their memories.

Bellême nudged his horse forward and began circling them, using the warhorse's great size to intimidate them. As he felt the hot breath of Bellême's mount on his neck, Godric bristled at the proximity of the man he hated above all others. It took all of his willpower to fight his rising rage, for both their lives depended on it. He knew Bellême could easily draw his sword and hack them down where they stood. You don't gain a reputation as one of the most gifted wizarding warriors in Britain by being a blundering fool with a wand or blade. The Fae-Knight reeked of arrogance and as he passed by, he deliberately ensured that his towering mount barged their shoulders. Godric had anticipated the blow and had planted his feet so that he didn't stumble when the beast bruised his shoulder. However, he couldn't help flinching slightly and his face soon furrowed with fury at displaying any signs of weakness in front of this most hateful of men.

'Sir Robert,' Salazar acknowledged, seemingly unfazed and acting as if their confrontation all those years ago had never occurred,

'Shit stain,' Bellême replied. Godric's rage flared. This was the man who had wounded Alain and who had humiliated Godric as a boy. The internal battle intensified, making his blood boil. Salazar remained composed, intent on finding a means of escape and getting themselves away from this place without Bellême or Godric coming to blows. He only hoped that Godric recognised the ill judgement of starting a brawl whilst they were surrounded by wolves.

'A pleasure as always,'

'You're far from home?' Bellême rested his hand on his sword hilt. Salazar eyed the motion uneasily; after all, Bellême was a reputed dual-wielder, the fabled warriors of the wizarding world.

'The Lady Melusine requested our presence, Sir Robert,' Salazar replied coolly, 'if we'd known what esteemed company she keeps, we would have avoided it.'

'You yap like a puppy-dog,'

'If you say so, Lord,' Salazar responded coolly, wearied by their clash with Melusine and now growing increasingly frustrated by this unwanted confrontation, 'are we done here Sir Robert? We have a Lord to attend too.'

'The cripple?' Bellême laughed darkly, then spat insultingly at their feet.

'Fuck off Slytherin,' Bellême growled, dismounting and throwing the reins to his brother. As Philip led the prized mount away, Bellême strode past the two squires. He was taller than Godric remembered, although he lacked the dominating impression he had made on a small boy, for there was now less than half a hand between them. Walking towards a barrel, he cast a silent charm which filled the cask with fresh water. After washing his face and hands, he spat on the ground and gestured at Godric, 'and take that Mud-blood bastard with you!'

Salazar nodded politely, ignoring Bellême's jibe. Godric met Bellême's gaze and held it. He felt an unwelcome wave of anxiety, the same he had felt as a boy when last they crossed paths, the stinging humiliation of been bullied into the mud by a man he had no hopes of defeating. This man's presence on the Wizengamot could only bode ill for the wizarding world. Yet, if other wizards could not see that this wolf was not the toothless and tame beast they believed him to be, then there was little Godric could do. He could only hope his gaze promised the challenge which his heart desired to cry. Judging by the withering look that burned into him, Bellême reciprocated it with equal malice.

Then Godric turned swiftly away from this den of wolves. As the squires disappeared into the jostling throng of festival-goers, they could feel Bellême's lingering gaze piercing their backs like a killer's blade…

* * *

So Melusine has finally been introduced, which I've been looking forward writing. She's going to be causing a fair few problems for our hero's in the chapters to come. Always like writing about Bellême, who is one of the many historical characters I've slipped into the story. Got a pretty busy weekend planned so will hopefully get the next two chapters up by the end of next week...they'll be called 'Wise Counsel' and 'The Dancer by the Fire'...Enjoy!


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Wise Counsel

Wise Counsel

Godric was furious. Following the unexpected confrontation with Bellême, the burning pyre which was his rage had needed little fuelling to ignite after being stoked by Melusine. Melusine was a she-wolf. She was undoubtedly powerful, but the danger lay not in her feats of magic but rather the subtle games she thrived on. Melusine toyed with those she believed were lesser wizards and disposed of those she thought unworthy of her attention.

As they strode away from Melusine's camp, Salazar had educated him about what was behind the sudden intrusive sensations he had felt assailing his mind. Legilimency, the art of mind magic, used to delve into the memories and thoughts of a rival enemy in order to discover their deepest secrets. Salazar, he revealed, had long ago shown an aptitude for it and once discovered, Alain had taken lengths to see that his mind was secure from outside influences. Godric didn't have the same defences or instinctive grasp of the intricacies needed for this branch of magic, although as Salazar pointed out humorously, his magic was so potent and volatile that it appeared to have defended itself by lashing out like a cornered beast. Legilimency was a difficult art to master and the fact that Melusine had wielded it so effortlessly was a cause to worry. This only served to fuel Godric's rage further and it took him all evening to calm his frayed temper.

He hadn't needed any encouragement to stride into the make-shift arena used for the mock-duels they had witnessed earlier. Godric faced three opponents that evening, all his senior, and beat them all in quick succession. The physical release of duelling burnt away most of his residing anger and frustration, leaving only simmering resentment. By the finale of his last duel, Godric's exertions had drawn quite a crowd of spectators, who watched on in admiration for this unknown wizard's prowess, for Godric wore no device of Avalon. Salazar, sensing an opportunity, swiftly took advantage of the situation to earn them a belt-purse full of extra gold and silver pieces by gambling against those who knew nothing of this mysterious young wizard.

Taking his cue from a fading sun as it sank from its heavenly throne, Godric graciously bowed out of the competition. As he abandoned the stage, his gaze was once again caught by a familiar sight amidst the dispersing crowd. The same golden haired, rosy-cheeked girl that he had seen observing them earlier that day was again watching him from afar. Realising that her presence had been noticed, she winked at him with another impish smile, before once again vanishing into the disbanding throng. Godric blinked. He was beginning to think the apparition was a fylgja, the spirit manifestations of a man's luck which embodied Scandinavian legend. It was said that their appearance was a sign of impending doom and at the sight of her Godric began to feel the familiar unnerving feeling which had begun to accompany the strange girl.

Night had fallen by the time the two friends returned to Alain's camp. Salazar's mood had cheered immensely and he hummed a little ditty as they strolled towards their destination. He was exceedingly proud of how he had held his own against Melusine during their duel of words and his newly-acquired riches had bolstered his good humour. Godric couldn't blame him. He had marvelled at Salazar's daring, keenly aware that without him there to steer the confrontation down a different course, Godric's anger may have been his undoing. Godric favoured speaking with blunt honesty, seeking the truth. On the other hand, Melusine and Salazar were adept at the language of courtiers, the ability to weave words like a dance. It was a talent which Godric had never been more keenly aware that he lacked, especially in an environment already heated by rivalries and age-old prejudices where the wrong choice of words could lead to an untimely death.

The brief chill as they passed through the protective wards constructed to recognise friend from foe were the first thing to greet them on their return. The Lord of Avalon wasn't taking any risks and despite violence being prohibited, he was intent to take measures to avoid any assassination attempts on his life. They also found the majority of Alain's retinue absent, gone to sample the delights of Lughnasadh. Hamon was also gone, the impressionable squire having been led astray by Bayard, intent on proving that Muggles could handle both ale and women better than any wizard. Merlin knew where they were now, having probably found one of the many concubine caravans which annually took advantage of the passionate excesses of mass gatherings such as this. Ella was also missing, having slipped away to ply her trade and earn some gold.

Alain was sat warming himself beside a fire. As his squires approached out of the surrounding gloom, they noticed that he was accompanied by an old man and it was clear that both companions took great pleasure in being in each other's company. Long snowy hair fell past the old man's shoulders and his beard was platted into braids where holly had been sewed. He was garbed in a simple white robe, belted at his waist and around his neck and wrists he wore the heavy gold torques of an ancient chieftain. Hugh was also nearby, sat alone in the shadows, sharpening his sword and content to let the two wizards talk without interference.

Alain's face lit up when he spotted them and his relief at seeing them unharmed and still in good health consumed his face.

'Godric, Salazar,' he beckoned them forward with an enthusiastic wave, 'there is someone here who wishes to meet you'.

As the squires seated themselves by the fire and began picking at the vast spread of tender meats and ripe fruits offered to them. It was the first time they'd eaten since before their meeting with Melusine, for fear of poison had quelled any thought of satisfying their growing hunger during that venomous confrontation.

'I'd like to introduce you to a very old friend of mine,' Alain explained as the old man smiled in greeting, 'this is Gofanon 'the Wise', who has been a friend and mentor to me for many years'.

The squires gaped and Salazar's eyes visibly bulged. This was _the_ Gofanon, the Head of the Wizengamot. Godric was rarely impressed by a man's lineage, but Gofanon was a descendant of Taliesin, Merlin's pupil. This man's life was so famous that his exploits had been described by Morwenna in their lessons with her. He had been born in the heart of the Welsh mountains in the latter years of Hywel Dda's reign and had proven to be a very powerful wizard. He had fought and survived the bloodbath at Clontarf, although his warmongering days were done and he now led a peaceful existence as the leader of a neutral faction who maintained peace between the rival groups who inhabited wizarding Britain.

Gofanon's smile widened as he greeted them,

'So these are the wizards who have been causing such a stir,' he laughed cheerfully, 'I've come to filch a meal from the useless lump you call a master and swap gossip like a pair of old women.'

'It is an honour, Lord' Salazar replied fervently, bowing his head. Godric followed his example,

'Slytherin…it has been many years since I heard that name. Descendants of Atlantes are you not?' When Salazar nodded, beaming with pleasure, Gofanon added kindly, 'a noble lineage'.

The ancient wizard turned to Godric, his eyes twinkling,

'This must be Godric. It must be a great honour to share the same blood as Alain of Avalon. Indeed, my great-granddaughter has advised me that you show great promise.'

Gofanon gestured with a hand and all his companions were surprised to see a short golden haired girl suddenly sat beside him. She had appeared as if from nowhere and even watchful Hugh blinked in mild surprise at her sudden appearance. The girl's presence had been completely overlooked and her half-lidded eyes gave off the impression that she was bored and would rather doze in the warmth of the fire than follow their conversation. Godric instantly recognised her as the girl who had been following them all day. The same impish smile flickered in his direction when she met Godric's incredulous gaze, her large round eyes twinkling as she winked at him mischievously.

'This is Helga ferch Pedr, my great-granddaughter and very promising young witch. With food charms, she can work miracles beyond magic.' Helga smiled and bowed her head in respect. Alain returned it,

'You're very fortunate to have such a man for a great-grandfather,'

'He's very fortunate to have me as a great-granddaughter,' she replied cheekily, with the sing-song accent common in the deep valleys of Wales. Alain and Gofanon threw back their heads and laughed heartily,y whilst Salazar looked indignant. Godric couldn't help smiling at her boldness.

Gofanon leant over and ruffled the girl's golden locks,

'What did I tell you,' he chuckled fondly, 'she'll make quite the witch in the years to come.'

Alain and Gofanon's conversation soon turned to the exchange of what gossip they knew of their shared acquaintances, talking of the deeds of many wizards and witches. Salazar would occasionally leap into the conversation, eagerly attempting to demonstrate how extensive his knowledge of magical customs and traditions were in the presence of their esteemed company. Gofanon and Alain responded to his enthusiasm with amusement. When Godric glanced at Helga during another one of Salazar's enthusiastic outbursts, the younger girl rolled her eyes and yawned mockingly, causing Godric to choke on a slither of salted beef.

After the two wizards had sated their curiosity in the lives of others, Gofanon's attention turned to Alain's squires.

'I hear that you have dined in the company of Lady Melusine?' Salazar and Godric exchanged a sour look,

'Yes, Lord,' they nodded. Gofanon chuckled at their expressions,

'I see that she made an impression?'

'She's a she-wolf!' mumbled Godric, remembering that wolfish smile.

'Aye, she is that,' Gofanon agreed, 'though I usually prefer to think of her as a particularly malicious spider, who weaves webs to trap us all. I do find myself surprised by her actions; it was a bold move to seek an audience with the apprentices of a known rival…'

'She wanted to make me squirm,' Alain interjected, 'she's not very fond of me,'

'Because of Avalon?' Gofanon noted and Alain nodded, 'no, she wouldn't be too pleased with that. Avalon has always had a tendency to breed jealousy and envy between wizards, ever since the days of Merlin. Melusine has long believed that Avalon is hers through birth-right. She has made no secret of her desire for the title. I'd be careful friend, your lordship may not be enough to keep the wolves at bay…'

Alain shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. Godric remembered how Melusine had echoed what Gofanon was now suggesting and felt fear stir in his heart.

'What I have yet to understand,' Gofanon continued thoughtfully, 'is why Melusine has chosen to end her exile now. In all honesty, her return worries me. Why now? For over a hundred years, she avoided risking the wrath of the Wizengamot. Does she think that the wizards of Britain have grown weak; that in recent years the Wizengamot has become too fractured to put a stop to her ambitions?'

'Who knows what that woman desires,' said Alain sourly,

'Apart from power,' Gofanon answered soberly, 'but there is more to this. The attack on you is a cause for concern. I was furious when your message reached me.'

'It's not the first time,' Alain said coldly, 'Bellême tried to end my life during the rebellion against Rufus.'

'That's different and you know it. Your fight with Bellême came during a time of war and you had an equal opportunity to defeat him. But this ambush is concerning; you were acting as a peace envoy for Rufus, not a war leader. This was attempted murder and as a member of the Wizengamot has not been murdered for over a century, the consequences should be harsh.'

'It's for this reason that I called for the Wizengamot to meet,' Alain said, 'I was their intended target, but instead it was a friend who lost his life. Hadrian was a good man and his death demands justice. I'd be doing his memory a disservice if I did not seek to discover who was responsible and when I do, they will pay for it!'

Gofanon stared at him shrewdly,

'You'll need to keep a level head and not let your thirst for revenge cloud your judgement,' he advised wisely, 'it would be a grave thing if Britain lost Alain of Avalon because you acted rashly. You said that the Seidr involved bore the mark of the White Falcon?'

'Yes,' Alain replied, 'although they left a scion of the Ragnarsson clan in those hills. Godric took his life before he could end mine.'

'Is this true?' Gofanon asked, turning to face Godric. Helga looked at him curiously, as if she was seeing him in a new light and had greatly underestimated him. Godric felt the familiar flush he received when the centre of attention creeping into his face.

'Yes, Lord,' he admitted,

'A great feat,' Gofanon conceded, impressed, 'the Seidr are bred for war,'

'I was lucky,' Godric replied modestly. In his mind, this was true. He had not known what he was doing when he had confronted the wizard, but had merely acted on instinct when he had seen Alain threatened. Gofanon smiled at him, recognising Godric's discomfit with the subject being discussed,

'This is interesting news,' he said, kindly guiding the conversation in a different direction, 'I have heard that in recent weeks, the remnants of the Ragnarssons have sworn their loyalty to Melusine.'

Alain stiffened. He had suspected that Melusine had been involved, but hadn't been aware of the Ragnarssons supporting the same faction so openly.

'It's true,' Salazar confirmed, 'during our meeting, she had two companions with her; both Icelandic outlaws. She's taken one as a lover and the other as a bodyguard.'

'They didn't attack you?' Alain asked, suddenly concerned,

'They wanted too,' Godric growled, thinking of the feral look in Killer-Bjorn's wild eyes,

'Melusine made them swear not too,' Salazar explained helpfully,

'She always did have peculiar tastes,' Gofanon mused, 'she likes men she can dominate, or she did when she was younger if I can remember rightly. It is wise for those she can't control to either sleep with a wand in their hand, for an early grave may beckon if they don't. Melusine has kinship ties with many of the great Lords of France through these affairs, men such as the Dukes of Aquitaine and the Counts of Anjou…'

'Is she gaining allies?' Alain frowned. Gofanon nodded sombrely,

'Many are rallying to her banner. My spies…' Gofanon said, patting Helga's hand with a proud smile, 'have been reporting on her recent activities. It is common knowledge that she has the support of the Bellême brood. She was the master of that vile creature they called a mother. But I've been told that families like the Villons and Lestranges have sided with her in their hunt for greater influence. Which is grim news for all of us if Bellême is voted onto the Wizengamot, for then Melusine will have a voice in which to impose her own desires and ambitions.'

'Bellême won't be elected!' Alain growled firmly,

'I wouldn't be so certain,' Gofanon chastised him sternly, 'as head of the council I cannot vote. All he needs is three of the Councillors to support his election and Bellême becomes our peer. Can you not see what Melusine has been doing? She is acquiring the support from wizards of many cultures. Normans and Seidr, enemies for decades, are now putting aside their differences and joining her cause, united in their hatred of you. Melusine is manipulating the wizarding world against you, old friend. For now, the English are holding back, but their hatred for you knows no bounds. They could yield to this dislike and throw in their lot with Melusine…'

'What of the Blacks?' asked Alain, 'I couldn't judge which way Ranulph would vote.'

Gofanon spent a few moments considering his response.

'Ranulph is an old fox and the Blacks are far too cunning to openly declare their support for a single faction. Old families don't survive by risking all on one throw of the dice. However, make no mistake, Melusine will seek them out. Their wealth would go a long way to swaying others to her side'.

'Does that look likely?' Alain grunted

'Does anyone know what that family intends? I know Old Ranulph Black well enough and I'm well accustomed to how he operates. Helga has informed me that a delegation from Melusine's faction have visited him. We don't know what has been promised, but I fear that it could sway his heart. However, it is not all dire news. His young heir is a mystery to me. Yet, people are saying that Amalric Black is far shrewder than his father. I suppose he had to be with the upbringing his father subjected him too. There are rumours his father had his mother killed over some imagined slight. He is an unknown quality and Merlin knows what his intentions may prove to be…'

'I wouldn't put dark intentions past him,' Alain mused, 'the Blacks have always toed the line when it comes to the dark arts'.

'Haven't we all,' said Gofanon wisely and Alain conceded his point with a wry smile, 'but young Black may surprise us and prove to be a valuable ally. Besides, these are dark times.' Gofanon suddenly sighed and for the first time looked wearied by his age, 'with Melusine uniting wizards behind one banner, I fear for the future of Britain, old friend; I fear the dark years which are to come.'

'Surely it is too early to despair!' said Alain chastised him lightly,

'Is it? I do not think so. You above all others have seen how fractured we have become. Today, Oswin Longbottom made no secret of his dislike for you Alain. He may support Bellême's election purely because it will spite you…'

'Then he is a fool!' Alain growled, 'can't he see what sought of man Bellême truly is. Has he not heard the rumours of his sadism?'

'Everyone has heard those rumours,' Gofanon acknowledged darkly, 'and Oswin is no fool. After all, it was his wisdom which saved his family when many of the other English families fell during the Harrying. No, he is motivated by his grudges rather than political desires.'

'So, Black may have been bought and Longbottom will support anyone that is against me. Viviana is an old friend of mine and I trust that she will see Bellême for what he really is and vote with sense. What of Cinead?'

'Cinead has the support of many of his countrymen. But he is a cautious man and is considered weak-willed by some. He also has troubles of his own, as a faction of younger men is emerging from the Scottish highlands. They call themselves the Firebrands and are led by a young English outcast called Edwin. His reputation has grown recently, apparently because a confrontation he had with you?'

'I remember him,' Alain said slowly,

'He is a passionate young man and a staunch critic of your past actions. The Firebrands were not impressed when the delegation sought your help, a move they made at Cinead's request, although his pride would not allow him to do it in person. The Firebrands see Bellême as a lesser evil and their will may force Cinead's hand. He may still hold the most power in Scotland, but he could choose to placate the Firebrands rather than risking civil strife with the Seidr of the Western Isles resurgent on their borders.'

'Gofanon,' Alain said, 'you above all of us can see how fractured Britain has become. As head of the Wizengamot, there must be something you can do to block Bellême. He'd cast us all into anarchy at the merest sniff of power, as would Melusine if she got the chance…'

Gofanon did not answer. Instead, he turned to look almost forlornly at Helga. She looked back fondly and to Godric it was obvious that the two shared a very close bond as well as the same twinkling blue eyes. The old wizard finally sighed,

'I have been this one's guardian for ten years now since her parents died fighting for Gruffudd ap Cynan in the battle of Mynydd Carn. At just thirteen, I've seen the promise she possesses, the potential to guide our society to a better end, away from the hate and prejudices which blind us now. Looking at your boys now, I see the same in them. Their generation can right the wrongs that we have let fester. It is like a growing sickness to which there is no cure. The return of Melusine is no coincidence; the she-wolf has scented an opportunity and now she calls for her allies to rally to her. What have I done to stop her? What have I done to avert this crisis?'

'Old friend,' Alain chided him, 'your presence at the head of the Council has preserved our world for more than a score of years. Without you, there would be chaos.'

'But I'm an old man and in my dotage, I have discovered a love of peace. I yearn for it,' he rubbed at his eyes, 'I promise that I will not bend to the whims of that woman. If she tries to take power through force, it will come to war and what then will be left of Britain for today's young to inherit? I have seen how Muggles squabble and tear each other apart for the merest of riches and power; are we to lower ourselves to their level? I fear for the future of our world'.

'Your fears may yet prove unfounded,' Alain responded determinedly, 'I swear on my honour that I will not let that happen!'

'You can only do so much, my young paladin of Avalon,' Gofanon muttered with a sad smile, 'all mortal men have a limit…'

The mood about the campfire had turned sombre and each mind swirled with thoughts about the unknown nature of the future to come. All except Helga, who seemed to be dozing lightly, her head resting against Gofanon's long spindly arm. Alain seemed content to watch the wise wizard speak, for no wiser counsel would be found in Britain.

'Ah, ignore me,' Gofanon broke the gloomy silence, 'I fret like a young maid in my old age. It must be the wine; by Merlin but I've never been able to handle drinking wine.'

As his squire's sombre expressions broke into smiles, Alain remained watching the wise wizard thoughtfully,

'I have recently spoken with Aidan Scatter-brain,' he began delicately, 'and he told me that you have suffered another bout of illness. I'm relieved to find you in such revived good-spirits'.

'You should know better than to trust that fool,' Gofanon chuckled, 'Aidan's likeable enough and I admit that we share a good friendship, but he's still a fool all the same. Nonetheless, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine…'

'You have admitted yourself that you have begun to feel your age,' Alain pressed on firmly, 'if people believe you are ill, some may scent an opportunity to nudge you towards death in the hope of furthering their own ambitions'.

'No one would dare,' Gofanon scoffed, 'I may be in my dotage but I could still teach younger wizards a thing or two about the power of magic.'

He stated it with an air of arrogance, but if anyone was to be forgiven for their vanity, then it was Gofanon 'the Wise'; he wasn't the chief wizard of the Wizengamot for nothing. Godric glanced at Helga to discover that the younger girl was not slumbering like they all believed, but was sat straight-backed and alert. She was scowling viciously, drawn to anger by the mere mention of an attack on her great-grandfather. Loyalty and protectiveness radiating from her. The fire in her eyes promised that she would defend Gofanon with her life if the need arose. Godric felt a mixture of surprise and respect stirring in his breast at the silent show of courage. After all, Godric had already proven that if their roles were reversed and it was Alain facing death, then he too would do anything in his power to defend his uncle.

'I know that you speak through concern for me, old friend,' Gofanon smiled calmly, his decorum returning swiftly, 'but I promise that your fears are unfounded. I enjoy the support of my Welsh cousins and friendship with great lords like yourself. There is also no one more loyal than my Helga, and that's without considering her brother. Do you remember Rhodri?'

'I do,' replied Alain, 'a very gifted young man if my memory serves me well?'

'It does,' Gofanon acknowledged proudly, 'Rhodri's grown into an extraordinary wizard. He's currently gallivanting across Christendom with the Order of Merlin, which has its uses. If a man is fool enough to seek my death, such a familial connection would draw in the involvement of the Order and not even Melusine would wish to cross that threshold. The Order may not be as strong as they once were, but their might is still greater than that of any wizard alive today.'

Alain sighed, relieved that his old friend had such a powerful ally to call upon if he was threatened.

'No, I do not fear the murderous intentions of lesser wizards,' Gofanon continued, stroking his beard, 'but I can't lie when I say that fear fills my heart when I think of nature's intentions for me. Nothing is a crueller mistress than time. It has robbed me of my sons and grandchildren, yet still, I am cursed with breath. It has rendered me old when the strength of youth is needed most….' His voice drifted off as he stared into the flickering flames, lost in thought and ignoring Helga's worried glance,

'You are still strong!' Alain told his old friend reassuringly,

'I prefer you when you're honest,' Gofanon chided gently, 'you've been spending too much time in the company of that rogue Ollivander. That silver-tongued swindler cheated me out of half a man's weight in gold for just three new wands. Three wands! I'd have outlawed him for such a thing if I could; he's worse than a goblin. Besides, there is still some strength left in these old bones. Whether it is strong enough to withstand the trials to come remain to be seen.'

He paused as he met Alain's gaze, his blue eyes twinkling shrewdly,

'I must ask a favour of you, old friend. For years now, the Normans have been slowly encroaching on my kin. There is bad blood between us and our Norman neighbours, but for years I have managed to keep my wizarding cousins out of it. Remember that it was my word which stopped the wizards of Wales from intervening in the wars which followed the Conquest. Yet Norman blood breeds more ambition than the English ever did and whilst wizards and knights like Bellême raid our territories with impunity, my hold on Welsh wizardry is slipping. The divisions between Welshman and Norman is teetering more and more on the precipice of no return. If anarchy ensues, the time may come when I require your aid. Tell me, can I depend on the Lord of Avalon to answer my call?'

For a few heartbeats, Alain remained silent, pondering his response carefully,

'The mages of Scotland have also requested my help in their struggles with the Seidr. I told them no!'

'You are an honourable man,' Gofanon pressed on, 'and I know you well enough not to expect you to disregard such virtues. Nor are you the only wizard I have sought out. Melusine is amassing a faction from all the bloodlines and cultures. I suggest we do the same. An alliance of wizards, all swearing to support the other if one of their allies is attacked. Such a thing could encourage solidarity amidst our fractured world…'

'Or help grease the steep descent to war,' Alain said wearily. He met Gofanon's gaze squarely, 'like you I have grown sick of war. I only embrace it when called upon my King to do so. I will be an ambassador for peace, Gofanon, so will intervene on no sides if it comes to war. Only if it is a deliberate attempt to seize control over magical Britain will my retinue ride to war. If your intentions are to keep the peace, Gofanon, as I believe they are, then I will willingly help you.'

For a fleeting second, Gofanon looked distinctly displeased. Then his deeply lined, oak-coloured face split into a tired smile,

'That is all I can ask.'

They returned to their small feast and began to talk of cheerier things, although Alain's refusal to be drawn into an unknown war lingered heavily on the company. Eventually, Gofanon stood and made his leave.

'One last word of warning,' the old wizard said after he had embraced Alain, 'a rumour has reached me; a whisper of what desire really fuels Melusine's soul. It says that she is searching for the Cauldron of Rebirth'. Alain laughed incredulously,

'Surely not,' he scoffed, 'Morwenna told me that the Cauldron was once housed in Avalon's keeping, unlike many who think that the Cauldron of Rebirth is nothing more than a myth. But that was centuries ago. It was stolen and has been lost to history ever since. Melusine is a great fool than I think first thought if she hunts for such trinkets'

'Melusine doesn't think so,' Gofanon replied, not sharing his friend's mirth, 'she believes the key to the Cauldron lies at Avalon. You know what she's capable of when she wants something.'

'There is no knowledge of the Cauldron at Avalon except for few moulding statues and an ancient pool,' Alain said dismissively, 'Morwenna has lived on that island longer than anyone and even she doesn't know its current whereabouts or who stole it.'

'But what of your vast library?' Gofanon probed, refusing to drop the topic, 'who knows what long lost secrets your Moor has accumulated. If Melusine gets the merest scent that the location of the Cauldron can be found in Avalon, then she'll do anything to acquire it, maybe even by resorting to force…'

'She will move against me anyway,' Alain snorted, 'but I don't think it'll be with force. She's not famed for her martial prowess.'

'You've never seen her duel. Melusine is a greater dueller than you give her credit for,' Gofanon told him sternly, 'besides, you forget that whilst Melusine may not have a reputation for battle prowess, but her one-time apprentice does. His sadistic nature aside, Bellême is perhaps the best fae-knight in Britain…'

'Not even Bellême has the power to oust me from Avalon!'

'He's a hardened veteran of many wars and his understanding of the art of siege war is unparalleled. Your hubris could be your undoing if you are not careful friend.'

Alain sobered immediately,

'You really think Melusine will move against me?'

'You? Yes and soon! I suspect that the gold which paid for the ambush could be traced to her hands. Will she dare to move against Avalon? That remains to be seen. But I'd advise caution,' Gofanon told him wisely, 'you said it would be a dire thing if our world lost me. Yet the consequences of losing Alain of Avalon would be just as damaging. Be on your guard, old friend, the wolves are gathering.'

Gofanon waved his farewell and slipped into the dark. Helga paused for long enough to flash a smile at Alain's squires, a mischievous smirk which seemed to promise that this would not be the last they would see of her during the festival. Then she was gone, following her great-grandfather into the surrounding darkness beyond the firelight. Those remaining by the fire sat in thoughtful silence, Alain turned his attention to his squires,

'How was your meeting with Melusine?'

'She's a bitch,' Salazar replied quietly, dislike lacing his tone.

'A bitch with claws,' Godric growled, his good humour disappearing instantly as he remembered their time in Melusine's company.

'I suppose it is remarkable,' Salazar couldn't help adding, 'that she has come so far in a world predominantly ruled by men. But your assessment was apt, Lord, she is certainly Medea reborn. She has the instincts of a killer.'

'Good,' Alain murmured thoughtfully, pleased with Salazar's judgement, 'you understand what we're dealing with. Especially now she has allied herself with Hadrian's killers. Now I'd advise that we seek our beds. We have another long day ahead and I'm sure you'll both be as keen as Hamon to sample more of the delights Lughnasadh offers.'

'Lord,' Salazar said quietly. He paused and exchanged an uncertain look with Godric, 'can we ask you something?'

'Yes?' Alain encouraged him, smiling bemusedly,

'Who is Hugh Brunel?' Godric finished, eying Alain nervously. Something told him that they must approach this topic with caution and when the Lord of Avalon's face flashed from bemusement to anger before turning stonily vacant, it appeared that his uneasiness was justified. Alone in the shadows, Troll-Bane stilled.

'How did you learn that name?' Alain asked softly,

'Melusine mentioned him,' Salazar explained warily, 'she was insulting you and Lady Morwenna and when we disputed it…'

'…She said that if we thought you were a good man, then we should ask you about Hugh Brunel and what he did to Mabel of Bellême!' Godric added cautiously, sensing the sudden change in Alain's mood. His uncle's fists slowly clenched and unclenched, breathing deeply, as if he was embattled in an internal struggle,

'So it begins,' Alain said quietly, looking distant, 'so this is how she tries to undermine me with slander and lies…'

'Lord?'

'WHAT?' Alain snarled, suddenly furious. His squires flinched as Alain's anger and frustration exploded over them and for the first time in their lives they witnessed just how the muddying of his honour and name were affecting him. Thankfully, his anger was fleeting and it fled as soon as it had arrived. Alain breathed deeply, closing his eyes in an effort to make sense of his scattered thoughts,

'Hugh Brunel was a wizard,' Alain finally sighed, 'a wizard whose name lies like a stain on my life. I knew him well once, for we were apprenticed as boys together. He fought at my side for many sides, at Senlac Hill and the Harrying. But our beliefs differed too fundamentally for any friendship to last. Brunel was always more susceptible to the dark arts than I. When I grasp the opportunity to leave Britain in order to heal my soul, Brunel thought that he deserved to take my place as Grand-Sorcerer to the King. Petty jealousies had been harboured in his soul for many years and he saw it as a chance to ascend to a position greater than my own. But old King William could read men's hearts and he denied Brunel the title and power he so craved. Furious, Brunel retreated to his ancestral lands in Normandy and we did not see each other for many years.'

'It was after my accession to the Lordship of Avalon that he next contacted me. Old hurts had not yet healed, but he had been spurred to seek my help due to a long and bitter familial feud. His grudge was against the Bellême's, especially their matriarch. Mabel was always a vindictive woman, with a malicious penchant for cruelty which surpassed even that of her son. At a whim and mad with power, she disinherited Brunel and his brothers of their family estates. Brunel yearned for revenge, but the aid he sought I could not give. Grand-Sorcerer I may be, but my influence is limited in Normandy and I would not start a war with the Bellême's. After exchanging heated words, we parted for the last time and never spoke again!'

'Did he still seek revenge?' Salazar asked, this grim tale unknown to him.

'He did,' Alain answered sourly, his eyes plagued by memories of the past, 'I tried to dissuade him and told him that if he went through with his plan then he would have to flee east, for Mabel's sons would not stop hunting him until he was dead by their hands. Sadly, I misjudged how entrenched his use of the dark arts had seeped into his heart, or how deeply his thirst for revenge had taken root. His retaliation was both swift and brutal. In the dead of night, he crept into Mabel's own tower and made his way to her bedchamber, where he found Mabel. I do not know what was said between them, but it was Brunel who walked from the castle alive, having hacked Mabel's head from her shoulders…'

'He did what?' Godric breathed in disbelief whilst Salazar visibly paled. They had heard of the evil that had once been Mabel of Bellême, after all, she had spawned a devilish man like her son. But could such a violent death be justified?

'Dark were the deed of Hugh Brunel,' Alain grunted, 'after his murderous crime, he fled for his life, travelling east towards the blazing lands of Byzantium and beyond. I do not know if he lives still, but no word of him has ever reached me and a lot of gold from Bellême's revenues has passed into the bloodied hands of assassins in a bid to hunt him down.'

They fell silent for a moment, contemplating the tale Alain had just been told.

'This is why Bellême hates you?' Godric suddenly said aloud, realisation dawning on him as he remembered the hushed conversation Alain had held with Morwenna as she healed his wounded leg, 'this is why he sought to kill you?'

'Yes,' Alain muttered darkly, rubbing absent-mindedly at the old wound on his leg, 'Bellême has always blamed me for Mabel's death. His wrath was great, for despite his faults Bellême loved his mother dearly. He knows that Brunel sought my aid in his wretched plan. He thinks that I had a hand in it, or at least helped him evade capture in the murder's aftermath. Without Brunel to channel his revenge against, he turned to me. The incident at the King's coronation only served to fuel a feud which Bellême has long held against me A feud which I fear will only end when either Bellême or I are dead.'

With that solemn conclusion, Alain rose to his feet, his hands still clenched tightly. He didn't look at his squires as he addressed them.

'I'd suggest you find your beds. I believe you've spent too much time trading idle gossip about others. It'd be best if you left me to my thoughts…'

'But Lord, it is still early…'

'I said leave me!' Alain suddenly snapped furiously and momentarily stunning the two young men into inaction. The Lord of Avalon shook his head, briefly looking guilty at his harsh response, only for his features to harden. With a grunt, Alain turned and stalked away towards the grand pavilion where he would bed for the night and leaving an astonished Godric and Salazar behind. However, when Hugh's voice broke the silence, it jolted them from their stupors.

'Pay no heed,' Hugh said in a hushed voice, rising to his own feet, 'Hugh Brunel is a sour memory for him to stomach…'

'I did not expect that reaction,' Salazar breathed, still pale faced. Hugh shrugged,

'You couldn't have,' Hugh reassured him gruffly, 'I think Lord Alain is still plagued with regret regarding the fate of Brunel. He thinks he could have done more to steer him down a different course. Whether that is true or not is impossible to tell. Now I suggest you both find your beds for the night. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and don't think because we are attending a festival you will escape your morning drills. I'll see you at dawn!'

Salazar groaned at the news as he lurched to his feet and headed for his bed. Godric followed silently behind. When he finally settled down and let sleep take him, he was plagued by dreams of blood-drenched castles, leering she-wolves and the towering grisly paladin with his chilling laughter echoing in the dark…

* * *

Done. Sorry for the delay, the next chapter should be up shortly. Finally introduced Helga to the story. Obviously, she'll be one of the most important characters in the future and I've got a lot planned for her, so really wanted to do her justice. As always, feel free to message me with any feedback/questions/reviews you may have about the story...


	17. Chapter Sixteen: The Dancer by the Fire

**The Dancer by the Fire**

When Godric woke the next morning, he felt revitalised and ready to face whatever the day could throw at him. He was soon thankful for it. Lughnasadh may have been one of the most celebrated festivals in the wizarding calendar, but to Hugh, it was a day like any other. Avalon's castellan was a hard taskmaster and it hadn't taken him long to drag Alain's retinue from their beds and onto the makeshift tiltyard he had marked nearby. Godric took to the exercise with relish, as he found it a great means of releasing his pent up emotions regarding yesterday's confrontations. He thoroughly enjoyed completing the drilled sword strokes with ease, besting a cursing and barely conscious Bayard before being ordered to test his wand work with Salazar. Salazar hadn't even argued with Hugh's regimented demands, although he did look petulant about being ousted from his bed so early. Since the beating at Godric's hands and the ambush in the northern hills, the eldest of Alain's squires had approached his martial training with increased enthusiasm, bringing with it his quick reflexes and cunning flare. He was a formidable opponent when he tried, although he was still no match for Godric's eagerness or skill and soon he was muttering grumpily after Godric had sent him crashing to the ground.

Alain emerged early from his own sleeping quarters and broke his fast whilst watching his retinue train in the summer's heat. However, he didn't linger, for as soon as his meal was finished he had fetched his cloak and stalked away alone. He looked unusually grim, but whether it was due to the impending chance that Bellême would be elected to the Wizengamot or the previous night's discussion of the violent exploits of Alain's childhood friend, Hugh Brunel, was impossible for Godric to tell. No words were shared between master and apprentices before Alain had left.

They practised until a green-looking Hamon stumbled to the ground and vomited the previous night's indulgences. Casting a disapproving look at his retching son, Hugh finally took pity on his comrades and called an end to the early morning's activity. The three squires soon found themselves diving into _Llyn Llywenan's_ cold depths to wash the sweat from their bodies and cool aching muscles, although it took a groaning and red-faced Hamon an age to peel off his vomit-stained gambeson before he collapsed head first into the tranquil water. They remained bathing in their secluded location, warmed by charms and veiled by a line of yew trees hidden away from prying eyes. The cold water seemed to have a miraculous effect on the Muggle squire and he was soon regaling his companions about the previous night's exploits. Smirking with a roguish grin, Hamon boasted endlessly about the amount of drink he'd consumed and the women he'd met until Salazar's frayed patience finally snapped,

'For Merlin's sake, Hamon,' Salazar cried out in exasperation, 'the last thing I want to hear are more sordid details about who you penetrated last night!'

'Why?' Hamon smirked back, 'jealous?'

'Of you? Not a chance,' Salazar retorted, a little too quickly. The real reason for Salazar's short temper was lost on a blissfully unaware Hamon, but Godric knew that it was Alain's abrupt departure that morning which vexed his friend. Both boys couldn't help but feel partially responsible, remembering their lord's heated words the night before. Salazar sighed, realising that there would be no end to Hamon's baiting if the Muggle thought Salazar was envious of his conquests,

'Merlin, you look like you'll burst…' he said, admitting defeat, 'just get on with it and tell us about this poor girl you most likely disappointed last night?'

'Poor girl?' Hamon spluttered, 'I beg to differ Sal; I made her feel things no man has ever done, she was squealing and everything!'

'I'm guessing she was a whore?' Salazar said drolly, as Hamon nodded, 'so you paid her to squeal? Does she have a name? I need to know who to avoid if she's got such poor taste she settles for men like you…'

'Can't remember her name,' Hamon admitted sheepishly, 'but I think her master went by Bodvar.'

Salazar's jealousy fled instantly,

'Bodvar?' Salazar cried out laughing, 'as in Bodvar the Hog?'

'Yeah…' Hamon said uneasily, looking at Godric as if the younger squire could explain why Salazar had practically exploded with laughter, 'why do you laugh? Have you heard of him?'

'Because,' Salazar gasped amidst his laughter, 'even I know Bodvar the Hog is infamous for being the master of the cheapest and most disease-ridden whores in the wizarding world'.

'What?' Hamon stuttered, looking dumbstruck,

'They say Bodvar wouldn't know a woman from a sow,' Salazar explained, clutching at his sides, 'there are even rumours that his reputation as a notoriously poor whoremaster is so bad no women would use him, so he's had to resort to transfiguring pigs into women to earn some coin…'

'That explains the squealing then,' Godric piped in as he finished washing and strode naked from the lake, unable to resist baiting his horrified friend. A hysterical Salazar followed, leaving Hamon stood in the shallows, ashen-faced and spluttering indignantly. Godric and Salazar quickly dried themselves with the aid of magic. As they were in the process of donning their leggings and Hamon began to amble onto the shingly shore, a voice, sweet and distinctly feminine, broke the silence.

'Good morning'.

Both Godric and Salazar cried out, their hands instantly reaching for their wands. Hamon, taken completely by surprise, lost his balance and fell back into the water. As he emerged from the green world beneath the surface, spluttering as he groped at the loose reeds which clogged his vision, he soon discovered that his gaze had joined those of his companions as they stared dumbly at the small girl who appeared to have miraculously materialised in their midst. Helga was perched on a rock, an amused smile beaming from her round face and her golden hair shining like the sun. Then as their shock faded, the reality of the situation dawned on the three squires. Salazar and Godric hastily finished tying their breeches and Hamon sunk lower into water, trying to preserve what was left of his modesty.

'How long have you been here?' Godric asked her suspiciously, quickly pulling on a tunic. Helga shrugged,

'Long enough,' she said, smirking mischievously as her eyes strayed over their athletic physiques with approval, 'if only I was older'.

Godric reddened at her playful tone, then blushed even brighter at the absurdity of being embarrassed by a thirteen-year-old girl. Salazar shook his head peevishly, ignoring Hamon's high pitched yelp as the Muggle demanded to know who their strange acquaintance was.

'You're very bold for a young maid,' Salazar grumbled,

'You're very…inadequate…for a young man!' Helga shot back and Salazar flushed angrily. Hamon, having recovered from his shock, roared with laughter and Godric chuckled with them. It appeared that Helga was as bluntly spoken as Godric, but matched it with a wit to rival Salazar, who seemingly had finally met his match.

'Never mind,' Hamon grinned at her, wading out of the shallows using his hands to hide his manhood from Helga's prying gaze, 'you're my new favourite person.'

'Hamon,' said Godric, as Helga laughed, 'this is Helga ferch Pedr, great-granddaughter to Gofanon the Wise'. It was blatantly obvious that Hamon had no idea who Gofanon the Wise was, but like his friends, the Muggle had spent many hours under Morwenna's tutorage and his manners were as finely honed as theirs. He bowed to her and she returned it,

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Helga ferch Pedr,' Hamon called over as he finished dressing.

'Call me Helga Hufflepuff,' the young maid advised the three squires, 'it is my father's family name.'

'Should you be wandering alone?' Godric asked her inquisitively,

'Great-grandfather grants me many freedoms,' she shrugged dismissively,

'Too many,' Salazar grumbled from the lakeside, where he was using the water's reflection to oil his raven hair. Helga ignored the jibe, content to stare at Godric curiously,

'I've seen you fight,' she acknowledged, 'you're very impressive'. As always, Godric's modesty caused him to redden at the praise. Hamon paused halfway through the struggle to pull on his tunic,

'Wait…what?' he said indignantly, his voice muffled by the fabric.

'Thanks,' Godric replied awkwardly,

'You remind me of my brother,' she continued, blissfully unaware of Godric's unease, 'you both share a similar duelling style. He'd like you…'

'Do you know a lot about duelling?' Godric asked, intrigued at how a young girl discovered such an interest.

'Enough,' she smiled wryly,

'Your brother must be a formidable man?'

'He's the best,' Helga said enthusiastically, 'I think Rhodri would still beat you.'

'How can you be so sure?' Salazar asked, re-joining them as he slid a hand through his sleek locks.

'Because Rhodri's a member of the Order of Merlin for a reason, obviously,' Helga explained drolly as if she was speaking to a fool. Salazar bristled as she looked at him condescendingly, 'and they only take the best. He doesn't just use his talents for the financial benefit of his friends…or himself.'

'What!' thundered Hamon, finally putting all the pieces of the puzzle together, 'you entered the mock duels without me?'

His two friends nodded, exchanging sheepish glances,

'Did you win much gold?' Hamon raged on,

Pause. They nodded again,

'Unbelievable!' Hamon exclaimed, 'you bloody back-stabbing, gold hoarding bastards…'

He continued to rant on. Godric frowned at Helga,

'Was your only motivation for coming here to get us in trouble?'

'I wish it was,' Helga shrugged. Then her smile faded, 'but I'm afraid I was sent here as the bearer of bad news. Sir Robert of Bellême has been elected to the Wizengamot!'

'What?' A startled Godric gasped. Salazar stopped bickering with Hamon, gaping at the golden haired girl.

'It's true,' Helga confirmed, 'the vote took place this morning. Your master and Viviana le Breton were opposed to it, whilst Black and Longbottom voted in Sir Robert's favour. With two votes apiece, the deciding choice fell to Cinead of the Hallow-Hills and in the end he bowed to the pressure of the Firebrands. Sir Robert will be honoured and publically ordained when the Council meets tomorrow…'

'Shit!' Godric suddenly snarled, the frustrations of the previous day returning.

'Is this the same Bellême who wants Godric dead?' Hamon asked naively. Helga looked surprised at this snippet of information.

Salazar nodded,

'Shit,' Hamon mumbled,

'It'll be like having a wolf at the door to your homestead, 'Godric exclaimed angrily, 'how could they have been so foolish!'

'Because their men,' Helga suggested unhelpfully with a small smile, parroting what she had heard the maids in her great-grandfather's household say.

'It could be worse,' Hamon interjected in a dismal attempt to lighten the mood,

'How?' Salazar snapped, 'a man who would take pleasure in seeing us all dead is now on the Wizengamot, one of the most prestigious positions in the magical world. How could it possibly be worse?'

'Godric could have been stabbed in the back by his own friends, who made a fortune behind his back!'

'Idiot,' Salazar raged at Hamon's childishness,

'Traitor,' Hamon shot back.

The bickering between Hamon and Salazar went on for more than an hour as they ventured into the bustling camp. Strangely, Helga had decided to stay in their company for the rest of the day. She seemed to delight in shocking them and took a particular enjoyment in irritating the prideful Salazar. Godric found the younger girls company pleasant enough, although he felt that he had to constantly guard against her cutting wit. Her innocent round face and impish smile were a ruse for the mischievous nature which lay beneath. But he soon discovered that buried within her spirited heart slumbered a caring soul. Nothing emphasised this more than when they strolled past certain aspects of wizarding culture, entertainment and trade which were much darker in nature.

Godric had never witnessed Troll-baiting before. To his mind, trolls were huge creatures, taller than any man with a physique bulked by muscle. Godric could scarcely believe that Hugh, the paragon of a human warrior, had slain such a beast with only his trusted sword at hand. Yet, unlike the wild and unhampered troll which Hugh had outfought, this one was hampered by a large, iron chain which restricted its movement and what appeared to be crippled hand, its branch-like fingers broken. The beast roared, breathing in guttural breaths, its strength slowly draining away from a dozen bleeding wounds as it thrashed, miserable and exhausted, at a pack of snarling and frothing Crups. The fork-tailed hounds had encircled the beast and were now darting forwards to bite and scratch the larger beast with sharp claws. Their master, a thin and wiry trader, roared out betting odds to a crowd of gambling onlookers.

With the watching wizards wagering on the outcome, the trader used spells to urge the Crups to viciously savage the troll. But as the exhausted troll lumbered to meet them, the pack howled as one when another of the devilish hounds joined several of its comrades in death, crushed by one strike of a mighty hand when it ventured fatally close.

'Poor troll,' Helga said sadly at the cruelty on display,

'Too delicate to cope with a little blood?' Salazar scoffed mockingly, sensing an opportunity to bait the girl, although he too felt a little repulsed by the scene. He'd never admit it though and he was rewarded for his efforts when he received an icy glare from Helga.

Godric was moved to revulsion by the brutality before him and sensing the imminent argument between his companions and suggested they move on. However, they seemed to have wandered aimlessly into a mass market of trading wizards. A multitude of smells and sounds assaulted their senses, but amidst the exotic delicacies could be found darker items. Cursed objects lay beside werewolf pelt cloaks and dragon skin armour. Helga seemed to grow visibly angrier at their presence.

Her ire finally reached its zenith when they stumbled upon a filthy pen filled with elven slaves, sat slumped and mud-covered under the tyranny of a leering wizard and his toothless wife. Godric had never seen anything like it. He was wise enough to understand that slavery existed, both with humans and magical creatures, and that it was a profitable trade, with rich lords and eastern emirs all clamouring to purchase fair slaves taken from these northern isles. Yet, he had never been in proximity to it, for Alain refused to use slaves and the servants who inhabited Avalon were there by choice, loyal to the island and its Lord and Lady. It was a stark reminder of how fortunate Godric had been in life, for there were much crueller fates.

But there was no profit to be made here, even Godric's ignorant eyes could see that. The slaver had let the elves fall into squalor and fed them with mere crumbs, and now they were disease ridden, covered in boils, welts and biting flies, their long ears drooped and their spirits broken long ago. One of the poor creatures lay unmoving, its orb-like eyes clouded by death. The corpse still lay there, chained to its miserable companions, its skin marked with the welts and boils of the plague which had taken its life.

Helga was moved to tears by the plight of the elves and would have hexed the slaver and his sneering hag if Godric had not clasped his strong hands over the young girl's shoulders and steered her forcibly away, her protests proving useless against his superior strength. Her anger didn't subside, but seemed to grow brighter, especially when Salazar responded to the scene with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if the elven slaves were no concern of his,

'What are you going to do?' he scoffed contemptuously, 'buy them all?'

'I would if I could afford it!' Helga responded adamantly.

Salazar mocked her for that, pointedly ignoring Helga's heated glare/

'How would you like it?' she snapped at him after Godric had finally released her once they were a lengthy distance from the slaver's enclosure, 'to be chained and treated so cruelly?'

'That hardly matters,' Salazar pointed out, 'I'm a wizard!'

'And that makes you better than an elf?' Helga seethed indignantly,

'Yes,' was Salazar's simple reply. Helga silently fumed and looked at Godric and Hamon for support. Godric felt pity for them, for no creature should be chained and barred from freedom but recognised that in this instance there was little he could do, for the slave or to change Salazar's stubborn mind. Hamon felt more supportive, for a glance towards the lakeside embankment where the slaver's had penned their 'goods' showed him that humans were chained amidst the elves and the Muggle could hazard a guess that they, like him, were non-magical folk, powerless and robbed of their freedoms.

'The arrogance of wizards,' Helga growled under her breath when no vocal support was forthcoming. Whilst Helga looked like she would dearly love to hex Salazar, she still stayed with them and her mood soon brightened when the tables were unexpectedly turned. Salazar's gaze was caught lingering too long on a merchant's cart shining with glittering mirrors, which led to much laughter and Hamon eagerly explaining to a mocking Helga about Avalon's infamous 'Palace of Mirrors', much to Salazar's chagrin.

'Shut up Andros,' Salazar had sulkily grumbled when Godric's hearty laugh had grated on his nerves, which silenced the red-head instantly and produced more laughter from their companions.

They were strolling aimlessly through the festival in search of food when suddenly, they heard someone hail them with a shout. Turning around, they saw Edwin, the outcast English wizard from the Scottish court, waving at them as he weaved through the crowd in their direction. As always, the boy Edgar dogged his elder brothers heals. Edwin greeted them warmly and Godric saw that the young man had prospered since they first met a few months prior on a windswept northern hillside. A fine cloak hung from his shoulders, clasped in place by a rich buckle whilst his beard and long auburn hair were well groomed in an effort to look more dignified.

'I hoped that I'd see you here,' Edwin declared genially. He quickly shook their proffered hands, including Hamon's before bowing to Helga. He had an infectious smile and an uncanny ability to be liked by anyone.

'You are looking well,' Salazar smiled, commenting on the wizard's finery.

'I know,' Edwin agreed sheepishly, 'my former master is high in King Malcolm's favour and as a result, so am I. Canmore has rewarded me well for my services and I have been accepted into his court…' Godric and Salazar exchanged a glance, remembering Edwin's impassioned speech about joining the Scottish King's war-bands. They suspected that these services including aiding Canmore in the north of England as he had promised.

'I'm sure it is deserved,' Godric said kindly and Edwin reddened humbly at the praise. Godric found it hard to dislike the young man, but the knowledge that it was the Firebrands, the youthful faction of hot-blooded Scots which reportedly Edwin led, who had pressured Cinead to vote in Bellême's favour was hard to forgive. Godric's welcoming smile faltered and the atmosphere soon turned tense when Edwin expressed his satisfaction at hearing that Bellême had been elected to the Wizengamot. Whilst Godric felt an alarming rush of frustration over the amicable wizard's naivety, it was surprisingly Salazar who took umbrage with Edwin's remarks.

'You sound pleased with the notion,' Salazar commented rather tersely, 'do you know what kind of a man Bellême is?'

Edwin stared at the frowning Salazar, sensing the rising tension which suddenly filled the air about them.

'I've never met the man,' Edwin acknowledged slowly, 'but I've heard that he hails from an old family and many consider him to be the greatest fae-knight in Britain…'

'So you have heard nothing of his sadism,' Salazar pointed out bluntly, 'nothing of his cruelty to others and his penchant for the dark arts?' Edwin frowned, shaking his head slowly and looking faintly perturbed by what Salazar was telling him.

'Salazar,' Hamon warned softly, but he went ignored.

'Surely you exaggerate?' Edwin said defensively,

'I'm afraid not,' Salazar continued, 'yet, your influence has now handed one of our most powerful titles to such a man. High in a king's favour or not, do you make all your decisions so ignorantly?'

Edwin scowled darkly at Salazar's scornful tone and the tension increased. Little Edgar stepped back, suddenly looking uncertain, whilst Hamon shared a look with Godric, his gaze urging him, as the wizard, to intervene before the situation turned ill.

'Peace, friends,' Godric ordered loudly, gaining everyone's attention. Godric turned to face Edwin, 'I know that you are not fond of Lord Alain and I can't deny that your decision to support Bellême's election irks me as much as Salazar. There is bad blood between Bellême and me, but I'd be a fool to let my dislike for him ruin a friendship with a good man who I respect.'

Godric held out his arm in an offering of friendship. Edwin looked at it for a moment, before nodding and clasping it firmly. They shared a grin before Edwin turned to Salazar and had the decency to apologise for his behaviour. The elder apprentice hesitated momentarily, but Salazar had always been a stickler for noble wizarding traditions. He offered his own apology, nodding and clasping hands with the young firebrand.

'I can only hope that you do not have cause to regret your decision,' Salazar told him seriously,

'If I do,' chuckled Edwin, waving off their concerns, 'then I'll be the first to come begging for your forgiveness.' The young wizard left soon after to enjoy the delights of Lughnasadh, beckoning for his idolising brother to follow closely behind. Godric's smile slowly faded as he watched Edwin's departing back. He was a likeable man and Godric shared Salazar's hopes that Edwin would not live to regret using his influence to sway his more powerful rival to Bellême's cause.

As the long summer's afternoon wore on, the four companions purchased a small meal and found a quiet spot beneath a lonely tree where they could shelter from the sun and converse more freely.

'Helga,' Godric asked between mouthfuls of honeyed bread, 'were you following us yesterday?'

'Hah,' Helga chuckled before nodding, seemingly unabashed at being caught, 'I knew you'd seen me. My great-grandfather wanted to know what you were like, after all, you are the apprentices of the Lord of Avalon and great-grandfather takes a keen interest in the goings-on of all the factions'.

'Why would a wizard as great as Gofanon use you, a thirteen-year-old girl as a spy?' Salazar asked disbelievingly. Helga rolled her eyes,

'Is it too hard for simple minds to understand?' she shrugged, before answering honestly, 'he values my opinion, he always has. My great-grandfather is very wise and understands that it is easy for a wizard to overlook the presence of a small, young girl when talking politics with ambitious allies. We are underestimated… kind of like what you're doing now…' She smiled proudly and Godric's previous suspicions were proved true. Helga may be capable of as much pride and arrogance as the young man she baited so ruthlessly, but it was tempered by a caring nature and a fierce loyalty to her kin.

Once the meal had been shared, they settled down to laze in the heat and watched the bustling wizards and witches go past. Helga had an extensive knowledge of many of the wizarding folk in attendance and entertained her new companions by regaling them with the gossip and rumours which were a fundamental part of great gatherings like Lughnasadh. Indeed, Helga seemed to have a great penchant for gossip and the more slanderous the stories, the greater enjoyment the young Welsh girl got from them.

Many familiar faces stalked past them, including a revived Bayard, who with the brothers Gilbert and Gervais at his side, was already drunk and stumbling in pursuit of his next conquest. More interestedly, they spied Ella walking past on the arm of a tall and handsome dark-haired man. During their morning drills, Godric had overheard Isolde telling Tancred that Ella had found a rich patron to ply her trade. Rich indeed, for he radiated an aura of proud nobility as he strode by, basking in the attention Ella was giving him. She was so engrossed in her lover that she didn't even notice their presence and they heard Ella laugh once at the smiling man's clever remarks before she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Salazar smirking, Hamon scowling and Godric disinterested.

Unfortunately, the lounging group were spotted by another familiar face. For Aidan Scatter-Brain, the foolish and excitebale wizard who had been part of the Scottish delegation who had met with Alain in the north happened to recognise them as he wandered aimlessly past.

'It's good to see you again, Lord,' Godric said politely, bowing.

'I can imagine it is,' Aiden said haughtily, beaming at them, 'it's always a great thing for the young to mingle with the great lords of the wizarding world. Gives them something to aspire too.'

The sceptical look on Salazar's face plainly suggested that he did not count Aidan amongst the 'great' lords who would attend the Wizengamot. Godric sensed that the Scottish mage's fortunes had not improved, for his attire appeared even more threadbare and tattered than it was the last time they had crossed paths. At the first sight of Aidan, Helga had reverted back to her inconspicuous ways to avoid having to speak with him, whilst Hamon, his Muggle heritage obvious, was rudely ignored. However, it was Godric who seemed to garner most of the eccentric man's attention.

'You look like you've grown,' Aidan noted, sounding pleased, 'it must be the air in Avalon. I've heard you've been in the wars as well. There a rumours abounding that you've had a run-in with the Seidr. Bad business! I hope you didn't go looking for a fight like those young fools of ours did. I despair at the hot-bloodedness of youth. The Seidr are nasty bastards, but we did try to warn Alain. I hear that the Wizengamot is meeting because he demanded it?'

Godric didn't need Salazar's quick mind to sense that Aidan was attempting to pry for information that he could potentially use to gain favour with Cinead of the Hallow-Hills, the leading wizard of the foolish man's faction.

'Are you enjoying the festivities, Lord?' Godric inquired, interrupting Aidan by pointedly changing the subject. The young wizard had gathered that if there was one thing Aidan loved to speak of most, it was himself.

'I am, I am,' Aidan said enthusiastically, his bid to discern any unknown secrets swiftly forgotten, 'Lughnasadh is a great occasion, with ample opportunity to find my Rowena a worthy husband. Many promising young men have shown an interest in her already. Look at the Bigot family, their eldest son practically begged me to allow him to spend an afternoon with her…'

'That's good news, Lord,' Godric said, seeing how delighted Aidan appeared to be with the promising situation.

'Of course,' Aidan continued, winking at Godric, 'with such fierce competition between those who have shown an interest in being betrothed to my Rowena, there is still time for me to consider other potential candidates…'

'You would have to speak with my master, Lord,' Godric parried tactfully, ignoring Salazar and Hamon's amused chortles.

'Oh, I will,' Aidan agreed, 'it can only be a matter of time before Alain sees sense. It's all about the blood, boy, and my Rowena has purer blood than most. Besides, with that ruffian Bellême allegedly taking poor Trian's seat on the Wizengamot, I'd wager Alain would need any ally he can get and I'm a better wizard than most…'

He was interrupted by Helga, who suddenly scoffed as Aidan began to discuss the feuds and politics which were best left untouched in such a public place, although she was able to hastily turn it into a cough. Regrettably for the golden-haired maiden and to Godric's relief, her outburst served to distract the Scot from his interrogation of Godric and bring his attention solely down on her own head,

'Merlin, is this little Helga?' Aidan leant over and fondly rubbed the maid's golden curls, much to Helga's chagrin. She blushed, but succeeded in resisting the scathing scowl she desired to level at Aidan and managed a sweet smile, although it looked close to a grimace. Salazar was smirking in amusement.

'Good day, Lord,'

'It must be years since I last saw you,' Aidan grinned, 'how are you fairing?'

'Two years, Lord, and I'm very well…'

'Two years,' Aidan gasped, 'good Merlin, two years. Rowena will be very pleased to know you're here. How's your great-grandfather? Has he recovered from his latest bout of sickness?' Helga's eyes narrowed,

'Yes, Lord, he is as strong as he ever has been,'

'Brilliant news,' Aidan boomed, 'and how's that brother of yours?'

'Rhodri is thriving, Lord,'

'Married?' Aidan inquired. Helga's frown was replaced by a smirk, her eyes twinkling,

'I'm afraid that's impossible, Lord,'

'Why?'

'He's joined the Order of Merlin and is sworn to celibacy.'

'Oh,' Aidan said, shaking his head, 'I've always found celibacy a ridiculously outdated notion. How can they expect our purest families to thrive if our best young men are being leeched away by a band of fortune hunters?'

'That is a conversation you will have to have with the Grandmaster of the Order, Lord,' Helga advised patiently,

'I intend too,' Aidan nodded, as if he would ever be granted an audience with such an esteemed figure in wizarding society, 'anyway, I'm surprised to find you so far from your great-grandfather, little Helga. It is not wise for a young maid to travel abroad without a chaperone. I pay two handmaidens to watch my Rowena when she is not with a potential suitor that is. It's a lucky thing you fell in with such bright and strong wizards like these fine young men.'

Aidan gestured at Salazar and Godric, ignoring Hamon again. Salazar's smirk widened whilst Helga's smile became noticeably strained.

'I'm sure it is, Lord,' she managed to grind out through gritted teeth.

'Very good,' Aidan clapped his hands together, 'now, I won't stop you from enjoying the festivities any longer. Besides, I'm sure we'll all see each other at the Wizengamot tomorrow. Helga, where can I find your great-grandfather?'

'He's gone to see Nolwenn the Fae-Whisperer about a batch of doxy eggs with special magical properties he can use for his potions,' she answered quickly,

'Excellent,' Aidan beamed, 'I'm sure he'll be happy to see me. He could do with my advice at a time like this. Hopefully, we'll meet again soon,' The Scot waved once more before bouncing away, lingering long enough to remind Godric that time to consider making Aidan an offer for his daughter's hand in marriage was swiftly fading. Godric promised to mention it to Alain, knowing full well that he wouldn't. The last thing the Lord of Avalon needed was a wedding to organise.

'Oh, Rowena,' Helga breathed sympathetically, her heart wrenching for her poor friend. Her companions did not hear her.

'Has Lord Gofanon really gone to do that?' Godric asked Helga curiously as they watched Aidan disappear into the bustling throng in relief.

'Merlin, no,' Helga smiled deviously, 'he's far too busy dealing with Bellême. But Aidan doesn't know that and speaking with the Fae-Whisperer is a testing task for the wise, let alone a man with a mind like Aidan's. It should keep him out of trouble and distract him from being too much of a nuisance.'

Godric chuckled at her quick-thinking, whilst Salazar turned to grin at Helga,

'So, little Helga needs a couple of big, strong men to keep her safe…OUCH!' Salazar's mocking was rudely interrupted by the jinx Helga shot at him, leaving Salazar spluttering in pained horror as small tentacles began to sprout from his skin. As Hamon and Godric rolled about howling with laughter, Helga turned back to her meal and continued eating, smiling smugly at Salazar's appalled whimpers.

By dusk, Godric was alone. Helga had slipped away to attend to her great-grandfather's needs whilst his fellow squires had both disappeared to flirt and charm their way into a witches bed. Godric only hoped they had better luck than Hamon's misguided efforts the night before.

Godric had decided to stay and bask in the jovial atmosphere. He stood amongst a crowd of people gathered around a large bonfire burning bright with multi-coloured flames. Small colourful projections of dancing magical creatures like fairies and sprites flew around them, leaving trails of sparkling dust in the sky. The shouts and cries of celebration echoed all about him as the magical revellers danced and sang. The young of the wizarding world always embraced Lughnasadh with wild abandon, seeing the festival as a chance to embrace the exuberance and primal passions of youth. As Godric watched the dancing couples, he knew that their euphoric passions were fuelled by drink, drugs and lust. Many would be lovers by the end of the night and come spring, there would be another boom in wizarding births; such match-making was an inherent tradition of Lughnasadh.

The dancers continued to twirl and sway in a ring around the huge bonfire, dancing to the music provided by a lively collection of bards and skalds. Godric hung back, content to stay nursing a cup of ale and keen not to embarrass himself, although in truth he was no poor dancer. Indeed, his athleticism had made him a proficient dancer during Morwenna's lessons. He may not have been as good as the eloquent Salazar, but he made Hamon look like a common stable-hand in comparison.

As he drank, Godric hadn't realised that his gaze seemed to be drawn time and time again to one of the dancers. A maiden who stood out from all those who danced beside the fire. It was not her beauty which caught Godric's eye but her expression. Illuminated by the firelight, she appeared exuberant as she revelled in the freedom of the dance, her eyes closed and with raven hair hanging loosely over her delicate frame, unbraided in the style of a virgin maid. Bare feet trod lightly against the grass as she swirled about with graceful eloquence rather than the wild abandon displayed by others. Each movement was controlled and precise. Her eyes were closed and a smile was on her lips, framed by her wild hair, she was a maid on the verge of womanhood, delighting in the freedoms which may soon be taken from her.

Godric's heart thundered in his chest, unable to take his eyes from her. He was spellbound; struck down with awe and convinced that he was beholding the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, for never had he witnessed such spirited freedom. The dancer leapt and pranced about the fire, unaware of the audience which watched on, as enchanted as Godric. The young wizard felt his blood quicken and the waves of a desire that had never really stirred within him before. Yet, reality struck him quickly. It could only be a dream. He was not darkly handsome like Salazar nor did he have Hamon's ability to make others trust him on sight. He was simply plain and cumbersome Godric. He was a young man of simple pleasure, not prideful or assured like most of the young men who watched the maid dance with lustful eyes. This beautiful and spirited maiden could only be possessed by Kings, Lords or greater wizards than Godric could ever dream of being. She was the kind of woman men would willingly die for.

The maid finished her dance with a startling leap, straight legged and releasing a cry of joyful euphoria. The move hitched the simple skirts up her leg, momentarily flashing a scandalous amount of bare thigh before landing gracefully and coming to a controlled halt, her skirts tumbling back down but she did not care for modesty. Her face flushed with exertion and taking deep breaths, the dancer finally reopened her eyes and beheld an applauding crowd. They clapped wildly at her performance and shot crackling bursts of light into the night's sky from illuminated wands. She had no time to appreciate it, for the dancer was instantly surrounded by a flood of admirers. She responded graciously to their clamouring compliments and insistent adoration with a well-practiced smile. But Godric, still stood half-basked between the firelight and the night's shadows, could see that her eyes never stopped flickering about her, like a trapped hind, searching for an escape beyond the baying hounds.

It was at this moment that her gaze landed on Godric and their eyes locked. The maid paused, scrutinising him as her brow furrowed more with every passing heartbeat. Caught staring, Godric continued to gawk mindlessly back before flushing in embarrassment. He squirmed as he looked away, adamant that his attention must have insulted her. Godric shifted awkwardly, intent on leaving quickly when he suddenly heard a clear and elegant voice hail him. The burr of a highland brogue was unmistakable.

'Were you watching me?'

Godric turned, stricken with speechlessness, for the dancing maiden had disengaged from her sycophantic admirers and had threaded her way through the watching crowd to his place in the field. She now waited patiently for Godric's response. The gentle breeze caused her raven-hair, still loose and blowing untimely in the wind as it framed her delicate features, whilst dark eyes watched him expectantly. She was tall for a maid, although Godric dwarfed her by more than a head. Surprisingly for a young woman with such a noble disposition, a blue threadbare cloak was draped about her shoulders, clasped in place by an intricately designed silver brooch. Godric marvelled at her shining beauty. Her crowd of admirers had fallen silent, staring at her with a mixture of surprise, anger and forlornness. Godric gulped, suddenly nervous and far too aware of the challenge burning her eyes,

'Yes,' he admitted,

'Why?' she demanded sternly,

'I…uh…I,' he stuttered and she raised an eyebrow, goading him to continue, 'I saw you dance…'

'And you thought this gave you the right to ogle me? Do you believe it wrong for a woman to express herself so freely? In such a public manner?'

'No, I thought it was the most spirited thing I've ever seen!' Godric shot back, a little irritated by her uncharitable accusation. Judging by the surprise which fell on her face, his honesty was unexpected and robbed her of the next words she was about to say. Falling into silence, they simply stared at each other, both unsure of what to make of the other.

This silent battle of wills was soon interrupted by the approach of two men. Both were clad in richly tailored wizard's robes and appeared to be in their early twenties. One was short and robust, whilst his companion was tall and leaner, with long dark hair and shrewd grey eyes. Standing in the gloom, he seemed oddly familiar to Godric, although he was sure they had never met.

'Come Rowena,' the shorter man beckoned as he came to a stop. He eyed Godric's tattered tunic contemptuously, 'don't waste your time on commoners like this.' He sounded reproachful as he waved a dismissive hand at Godric, who realised that the wizard must have mistaken him for a mere servant. Godric tensed, sensing an insult, whilst Rowena's eyes narrowed at the command, turning cold. She appeared agitated by the presence of these men as if she was displeased.

'What do you mean, Ramon?' she asked him calmly,

'Conversing with commoners,' this Ramon blurted out, 'I can see you have a kind heart, Rowena, but your generosity must have a limit. Your blood demands better. Come with us and we can share some wine before you have to return to your father. He did entrust us with your welfare tonight.' He stepped forward, intending to take her arm as her gaze turned sharp,

'You must be mistaken,' Rowena interrupted him coolly, 'or did you intend to speak ill of my betrothed?'

Ramon hesitated, his face reddening. His companion's hawkish face narrowed in suspicion, but he could not hide a flicker of surprised amusement at her bold declaration. The maiden ignored Ramon's outstretched hand and instead, slipped her arm through Godric's, who fought down his rising blush at her choice of ruse to return the disbelieving looks the two wizards were giving them.

'You jest,' Ramon blurted out, chuckling with uncertainty, but when Rowena refused to discount it, he soon turned to incredulity, 'this is your betrothed?'

Disgusted derision practically poured from the wizard, causing anger to stir in Godric's heart.

'Why would I jest?' Rowena replied coolly, her voice unwavering.

'Your father made no mention of this betrothal when I spoke to him!'

'My father is shrewder than many people give him credit for,' Rowena replied, 'I do not know my father's intentions, but I can guess that he wished to treat you honourably and saw a chance to place me under your safe-keeping whilst he conducted his affairs. I'm sorry, but you are too late Ramon, our betrothal is already settled.'

'How much has this dog paid for it?' Ramon scowled at Godric disdainfully, 'not much I imagine. He looks more like a Muggle than a wizard. Whatever he has offered I can surpass, the Bigot fortune is vast…'

'It is too late,' Rowena reiterated firmly, 'he will be mine and I will be his. No offer you could make can change that…'

'Then do you enjoy playing with men's hearts like a common harlot?' The short man suddenly interrupted her with a snarl, his disbelief giving way to rage. Godric made to step between them and he saw Ramon hesitate as Godric's superior size dawned on him. But Rowena's grip tightened around his arm, holding him back. The girl's gaze had turned into a scowl,

'You misjudge me,' she said sharply, 'I don't play with any man's heart, Ramon Bigot, not even one as self-indulgent as yours. I've spent the afternoon in your company and you have treated me chivalrously, but it is clear that there is no place for me in your heart, only for yourself.'

For a moment, it seemed like the stocky wizard would go for his wand and so Godric's hand twitched towards his own wand in retaliation, prepared to leap to the maid's defence. But any action proved unnecessary. Before the confrontation could escalate further, the taller wizard placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder.

'Ramon,' he said smoothly but in a tone which rang with command, 'calm yourself and desist with this foolishness. Come, let us leave these two lovers to their business. As unbelievable as it may appear, we both know how desperate Scatter-Brain has become. He is foolish enough to sink so low as to settle for such a…' he paused to cast a disparaging look in Godric's direction, '…unsatisfactory outcome. I am sure Scatter-Brain will not begrudge us for unburdening ourselves with the duty of chaperoning his bride-cow, especially since he's spent a lifetime making careless choices.'

Ramon still looked unconvinced, although his hands had fallen limp at his sides.

'Besides,' the man continued, 'I have a new woman to warm my bed and I don't intend to keep her waiting long. Come!' With a stiff bow, he turned away from them and strode into the dark. Ramon gave them one last ugly look before following his companion and leaving Godric alone with Rowena. Glancing at her, he saw that she had bristled at the insult the tall wizard had levelled at her, her dark eyes blazing.

'Curse the arrogance of the Blacks,' Rowena hissed angrily,

'Who were they?' he inquired. He seemed to startle Rowena from her thoughts,

'Just another opportunist suitor,' she replied coldly, shaking her head, 'and his arrogant friend. The taller of them is Amalric, heir to Lord Ranulph of the noble House of Black. Don't pay any heed to his petty words, for the Blacks have always been an astoundingly prideful family. His boorish companion was Ramon Bigot, a Norman wizard who has made no secret of his desire to marry me. Just one of many tedious men bartering for my hand…' She sounded very unenthusiastic about the possibility. Godric fought down another blush as he remembered how she had boldly claimed that they were betrothed as a ploy to discourage Bigot's overbearing attentions.

'Lucky you,' he said blandly and she laughed. It was a delightful sound and Godric suddenly sensed that he had somehow heard it before.

'Certainly,' the maiden said with a small smile, looking up at him curiously. Godric stared back, unsure about what to do or say and he cursed himself for a fool. He must appear like an idiot, he thought miserably. However, if he did, Rowena didn't dwell on it.

'So what does my betrothed wish to do with the rest of the evening?' she asked lightly, 'does Sir Godric have any plans?' Godric certainly knew what he would like to do, but he was far too noble to even let such ideas sully his mind. But all other thoughts were quickly dispelled by the realisation that she knew his name,

'You know me?' he stuttered, astonished. Apart from his tall physique, Godric was unexceptional. To his eyes, he didn't stand out unless he was fighting with a sword or wand in his hand. Yet, he had kept his identity as a squire of Avalon a secret during his participation in the previous day's mock-duels and he was certain that he would have noticed the raven-haired beauty if she'd stood amidst the crowd.

'Of course I do,' said Rowena, chuckling at his stunned expression, 'how could I forget the noble knight who once rescued me from a beating at the hands of a kitchen servant…' she smiled in amusement, 'am I so easily forgettable?'

Godric ignored her teasing, merely continuing to stare at her. Then it dawned on him. It was her smile, a smile he realised he had seen years before, where it had last shone at him in the shadows of the King's palace; the smile which had long become a mainstay of his dreams. He stared into her eyes, which now shone with the same mischievousness he remembered so vividly.

'Raven,' he breathed aloud and prompting her smile to widen. He continued staring at her dumbly, 'uh…you've grown…'

'That tends to be how life works,' she laughed at him, 'I see I'm not the only one who has grown. You look different, far from the ill-looking boy I met that night.' Godric chuckled; that was true, he thought, remembering how insulted he'd felt when Raven had bluntly told him that he look very disagreeable. He was far from the sickly boy she had first met, whilst Raven was now tall and sleek. She was yet to display the developed curves of womanhood, but the same spirit which had radiated from the young girl evidently inhabited this maiden's heart.

'Then how did you recognise me?'

'I didn't at first,' she admitted sheepishly, 'after all; the odds that we would meet again were slim. But when I saw you I was struck with how familiar you looked. It wasn't until I saw that you intended to step forward and defend my honour, despite knowing nothing about me, that I was certain you were the same foolhardy boy now grown into a man.' Her eyes had barely stopped scrutinising him, but Godric couldn't tell what her conclusion was,

'Incidentally, it seems cruel that I know your name whilst you remain ignorant of mine. I know that you probably heard that fool Ramon and that I once told you to call me Raven. My real name is Rowena.' she blushed lightly before her smile returned and grabbing his hand she began to pull him into the crowd, 'Come on. The night is still young and we have enough time to discuss our lives in full. Follow me and we'll speak more…'

The rest of the evening was spent exploring Lughnasadh, as Rowena had just arrived at Ynys Mon with most of the other Scottish supporters of Cinead of the Hallow-Hills. Godric soon discovered that he enjoyed Rowena's company immensely. Initial shyness and awkward silences quickly gave way to easy conversation and a peculiar eagerness to learn as much about each other as they possibly could. Rowena was his own age, exceedingly bright and possessed a very curious mind. She learned quickly, able to think up a multitude of questions about anything which interested her, which happened to be most things. Rowena delighted in knowledge, expressing a keen interest in ancient runes and arithmacy, whilst seemingly pursuing the expansion of her understanding with the same dedication and desire that Godric put into becoming a fae-knight. Godric was content to watch her interrogate traders and wise wizards from far off and obscure lands. When she inquired about his life in the years since they had last met, he tried to answer her as truthfully as he could without coming across as a complete fool. If his blundering answers did, Rowena was polite enough not to comment. In fact, Godric even dared to hope that Rowena actually enjoyed his presence.

As they wandered through the sprawling camp, he asked her curiously about how she faired over the years since they had raided the King of England's royal kitchens,

'As well as can be expected for a witch in this day and age,' she smiled coyly, 'still unmarried and still waiting for my father to sell me off to the highest bidder. It is as Amalric Black said, in my father's eyes I am nothing but a bride-cow.' Godric's heart leapt at the news that Rowena was unmarried whilst at the same time he opened his mouth to reassure her about her father. He closed without uttering a word. After all, he had met Scatter-Brain twice and on both occasions the Scottish mage had openly discussed selling Rowena into marriage. He recalled that Scatter-Brain had even considered Bellême as a potential suitor and Godric felt a flash of anger stir in his heart. He'd make a betrothal offer long before he ever let such a fate befall Rowena.

'I remember that you weren't keen on marriage?' he said tactfully,

'What eleven-year-old girl is enamoured with the idea of been given to a man more than twice their age?' Rowena shuddered dramatically before sighing, 'I'm still not. To my father's despair and my eternal thanks, it has not yet come to pass.'

They talked about many things over the next hour, yet Godric did not mention that he was apprenticed to the Lord of Avalon. He did not know what stilled his tongue, but deep down his heart yearned for this extraordinary witch to appreciate him for the budding young man he was rather than the high status he was associated with. He had an inkling that Rowena felt the same, but he lacked the confidence to trust the nagging feeling in his heart.

Eventually, they passed an old fortune-teller's smoke filled hovel and laughing mischievously, Rowena insisted that they see what surprises lay in their futures. Godric eyed the hovel uncertainly. It was draped in stinking animal skins and a stake had been speared at the den's mouth, mounted with a thestral's skull and wearing a crown of thorns. Rotten flesh still draped from the skull and flies swarmed around it. He grimaced with distaste, but Rowena was persistent and his protests were weak as she dragged him across the fortune-tellers threshold.

As their time in the humid and smoke-veiled den went on, Godric began to suspect that the old man was a fraud. It had cost Godric a whole gold piece and the old rogue was clearly enamoured with Rowena and he was soon predicting that she would become a celebrated witch, earn vast riches and even marry for love. This contrasted drastically with his reading of Godric's future, whose life, much to the young wizards chagrin and Rowena's amusement, would follow a dark road in which death would stalk him as a constant companion until he reached an unfortunate and early demise.

Initially maintaining an air of polite curiosity, by the end of the telling Rowena had rudely burst into laughter at the fortune teller's efforts, causing the shaman to splutter incredulously,

'What do you know of the art of prophecy, little girl?' he hissed scathingly. Rowena stared back mockingly,

'I am a Ravenclaw!' She stated slowly. The name was lost on Godric, but the shaman seemed to recognise it, for he instantly fell silent. Rowena was still snickering at the poor man's stunned expression as they left the stinking hovel and walked away.

'Old fraud! Divination is a haphazard skill at best and only a few can master the art. I mean…' she scoffed bitterly, 'marrying for love…it is an impossible dream.'

'Not for you,' Godric muttered instinctively without thinking. Rowena looked at him, frowning as Godric instantly reddened, only just realising how his response could be construed.

'Why do you say that?' she asked him curiously, coming to a stop.

'Erm…I…I just meant…well I've,' Godric cursed himself. He wasn't good with words unless it was bellowing orders on the tiltyard. Godric spoke through actions. Salazar, who could weave words as effortlessly as any bard, would have conjured a love ballad in the time it took for Godric to stutter an idiotic response. Rowena waited patiently for his response, but her eyes were shining with an emotion Godric could not read. Godric calmed his clamouring nerves and decided to answer with the honesty which had served him so well in life,

'Watching you dance,' he admitted, 'I've never seen anything more free-spirited; it was like seeing a maiden from legend. If any woman can marry for love, then I think it will be you.'

An uncomfortable silence descended over the pair. Godric could only hope that the sincerity of words showed through. Rowena didn't reply. She merely stared at him in surprise, her mouth gaping slightly. Then she began to walk again, blushing faintly, but still pausing to gesture for Godric to follow. As the silence drew on, Godric was halfway through a string of curses when he noticed a smile at the corner of Rowena's lips and her dark eyes were twinkling slightly. It was too dark to tell for certain, but it was enough to rally Godric's fading spirits and young wizard strode slightly taller and more confidently as they walked on more contently, the awkwardness of a moment before forgotten.

'I should be relieved,' Rowena finally broke the silence, her eyes dancing with mischief, 'at least my future won't be as morbid as yours, or am I actually in the company of death himself?'

Godric grimaced. He knew she was jesting, but that didn't stop the uneasy sensation which stirred in his breast. Only yesterday Melusine had called him a killer and it was true that a man had died by his hand. Godric's mind conjured the image of the armoured spectre, the same giant paladin who haunted his nightmares and who appeared to be an embodiment of death if ever there was one. Godric shuddered as the admitted that Rowena was closer than she thought.

Finally, when the moon sat high in the summer sky and night had long since fallen, Rowena deemed it time that they parted. Displaying his chivalrous nature, Godric offered to walk her back and Rowena accepted it with an unconcerned shrug, although playful expression told him that she had guessed his real motives. Godric walked her back to where a congregation of mages from the highlands and courts of Scotland had set up their camp, heedless of the dangers which could potentially be stalking the nighttime festivities for him. Alain would reprimand him sternly when he found out, but Godric didn't care. Any further time spent in Rowena's company seemed like a blessing worthy of whatever punishment Alain decided to implement as a consequence of his perilous carelessness.

Rowena came to a halt in the gloomy shadows at the periphery of an area where Cinead's supporters had camped. From where they stood, they were hidden from jovial revellers illuminated by their blazing campfires. Rowena turned to look at Godric,

'Will you be attending the Wizengamot tomorrow?'

'Yes,' Godric replied. Rowena smiled, visibly pleased. Godric returned it, 'will you?'

'I will,' Rowena said, 'the Ravenclaws are a very old family. Many may consider my father a fool, but whilst he is associated with that name, he has a right to attend. I am now old enough to accompany him and I learned long ago that there was little my father can deny me. He may have squandered much of the Ravenclaw wealth, but the power of its name even my father cannot erode.'

'Can I see you again?' Godric suddenly blurted out as he prepared to leave. Half concealed in the surrounding gloom, he could see that his impulsiveness had caused a faint blush to rise in her cheeks.

'Yes,' she smiled shyly,

'When?'

'I'll find you.' Rowena continued to curiously stare at him for a few heartbeats, 'You've grown more confident since the little boy who saved me. Your master must be a great man to bring out such a change in you.'

'He is,' Godric said firmly. Her smile widened,

'Good.' Then she turned and skipped away towards where the wizards and witches of her native homeland feasted. Godric watched her disappear into the tide of dancing mages before slipping back into the dark and making his way to his uncle's camp. His beaming smile had yet to leave his face by the time he returned there and the image of a maiden dancing beside a blazing fire refused to fade from his memory long after he had slipped into sleep...

* * *

There we go. I have finally introduced all four founders to the story. Still have a long, long time until they get to Hogwarts though. Hope you like how the story is shaping up. The next chapter will be called 'The Wizengamot'.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: The Wizengamot

**The Wizengamot**

The Council of the Wizengamot was one of the oldest surviving traditions in Britain. It was a law court which had stood for over a thousand years, enduring conquest and colonisation to become the most sacred of magical customs. Only seven wizards were deemed worthy enough to stand on the Wizengamot at any one time, but when an assembly was called then many of the great lords of magical Britain were not barred from attending, for a gathering of the Great Council enabled feuds to be settled and justice sought.

Over a hundred men and women gathered together in a great ring upon a small hill which overlooked Llyn Llywenan. Indeed, to Godric it seemed that all the great mages of Britain were assembled there, for had been judged worthy of attending. Some sat perched on rocks or sat upon the long grass, whilst most stood and waited in anticipation for the Wizengamot to begin.

No wizard was entitled to bear arms in the presence of the Wizengamot. It was a law which had lasted for four hundred years, ever since a councillor by the name of Odda the Vile had used the court to lure all his rivals to the same location. Once gathered, Odda's murderous intentions had been exposed, for his followers descended on Odda's rivals and brutally dispatched them in a frenzy of killing. Odda's bloodthirsty rule lasted two years, for treachery breeds more treachery and ancient records claimed that he was eventually overthrown by his own shield-bearer during a quarrel over a veela slave. Since those dark days, no wizard but the Watchers were permitted to carry a wand or edged weapon to the Wizengamot and violence was strictly prohibited.

Muggles were forbidden to attend this most sacred of wizarding traditions. Of all those who stood on hill's summit, only Hugh Troll-Bane had no magical blood. Yet it had even seemed like the Muggle paladin would be barred, for as the Lord of Avalon's delegation approached the summit, an impulsive purple-robed Watcher had blocked their progress and demanded that Hugh turn away. Hugh merely stared at the younger man, a look so threatening that it made the Watcher stumble back and reach for his wand. Only Alain's intervention calmed the situation and the word of the Lord of Avalon was influential enough for the Watcher to overlook Hugh's status and permit the knight to pass. Hugh would be acting as Alain's shield-bearer, whose role was to stand beside their lord and hold a shield bearing the coat-of-arms of Avalon. Many banners and shields were assembled on the hilltop, all emblazoned with heraldic devices which lent a colourful pageantry to the proceedings.

As his apprentices, Godric and Salazar had been given permission to accompany Alain, as did those members of Avalon's retinue who could wield magic. Isolde, Gilbert and Gervais may have been forced to part with their wands, but they could fight with more than just wands and they were determined to protect Alain as he ventured into the wolf's den. Bayard le Boar, as proud of his Muggle ancestry as any man ever born, was given command over the remaining Muggles in Alain's retinue and tasked with protecting the Lord of Avalon's camp from any unwanted guests.

The magical wards were a necessary precaution, although such safeguards were far from impregnable. There were tales of assassins who could slip past even the most vigilant of guardsmen by taking the shape of beasts and other men. They were a secretive sect who refused to be bound by the codes of honour that ruled most of magical society. Such a terrifying reputation stirred fear in the hearts of many, for no quarry was safe, from the simple serf to the most powerful of kings. Such hired killers had been known to bypass strong wards before and suspicions over the cause of Trian of Tara's death meant that Bayard, grim-faced and sober, would dauntlessly guard the camp from any would-be assassins until Alain had returned from the Wizengamot.

The revered councillors were perched on conjured stools of stone and gathered in a ring slightly ahead of the crowd which surrounded them. One stool remained vacant. This was the place which had once belonged to the Irish wizard Trian of Tara before his unexpected demise. It would be seat of the newly elected Bellême. The magnate stood nearby, smirking slightly as he awaited the moment he'd be adorned with the ceremonial title of Councillor of the Wizengamot with a satisfied smile. But if Bellême's pleasure was markedly understated, Melusine exuded triumph. The witch lounged in a shaded litter barely a yard behind her prestigious protégé, surrounded by her supporters and bearing a smile which shone victoriously. Melusine had once sat on the Wizengamot, the youngest witch since Merlin to be ordained as a Councillor. Yet, it had been lost when she was exiled. Now, Melusine had returned to the place of both her greatest triumph and most devastating loss to see her own protégé elected to the seat she had been barred from retaking. She looked radiant as she drew admiring glances from those spellbound by her fair complexion and regal nature. When their gazes crossed, she flashed Godric the briefest sneer before turning away. She had little interest in antagonising a lowly apprentice when so many of her rivals and greater wizards than Godric had amassed in the same place.

Godric's gaze drifted away from the she-wolf looked away to scan the crowd. It didn't take him long to spot Aidan Scatter-Brain, who had managed to acquire a place at the forefront of the Scottish delegation who clustered behind the Councillor they supported. Garbed in a fine, embroidered cloak which looked far richer than the drab cloth he had worn the previous day, Aidan's gaze soon located the men of Avalon, waved an excitable greeting and to their misfortune, looked ready to approach them. Fortunately for them, Gofanon, the prestigious Law-Speaker of the Council, chose this moment to stand and address the magical congregation. Scatter-Brain stilled, looking disappointed and settled for nudging the maiden who stood beside him. Aidan pointed a long arm in their direction and Godric suddenly discovered that he had met Rowena's gaze. He saw his own surprise mirrored in her own, for she was gaping in shock as she tried to comprehend that the humble Godric stood beneath the banner of the Lord of Avalon. Then they smiled at each other, just as a long hall call resounded over the assembly and rendered the small hill silent.

The tension was palpable. Everyone knew that Alain of Avalon had called for the Wizengamot to meet and tales abounded regarding the cause of it. Some had correctly guessed that Alain was seeking recompense against the Ragnarsson clan. Still, no one knew for certain and rumours had quickly spread like fiendfyre during Lughnasadh. The crowd now waited with baited breath as the long blast of a horn echoed to a halt and Gofanon stepped forward, his long beard neatly plaited and his golden bracelets shining in the summer sun.

'Wizards of Britain,' he cried loudly, 'Councillors of the Wizengamot, I welcome you to this Council. Today, all proceedings which pertain to the laws that govern our people shall be debated and those who have grievances to voice shall have an opportunity to be heard…'

Applause and cheers rang out from the amassed wizards, Godric saw that Helga sat perched beside her great-grandfather's throne-like seat. The young witch appeared to be dosing, but as Godric's eyes met her half-lidded gaze, her features brightened into a swift smile and revealing that she was far more aware of her surroundings as many of those gathered around them would be led to believe. Godric chuckled before returning to listen to her great-grandfather's speech,

'But before we talk of laws and grievances, I must be the bearer of graver tidings. Trian of Tara, our esteemed brother from the lands of our Irish brethren, has passed on to the realm of the Otherworld. His death saddens our hearts and his loss will be sorely felt. We should honour his deeds in life and let them linger long in our memory. However, his absence leaves us with our number diminished. There have always been seven seats on the Wizengamot and seven there will be still. The Councillors of the Wizengamot have met and a new member has been chosen to replace our lost comrade and ascend to a seat on the Wizengamot. I'd like to take this moment to publically welcome Sir Robert of Bellême to the Council, for he has been elected by his peers to take Trian's place on the Wizengamot…'

Cheers rang out from the supporters gathered behind Bellême as he strode forward, dressed in the noble regalia of a lord of the realm. He flourished a bow to his peers, before claiming the stone pew as his own. The markings engraved into the stone glowed before dimming. For those who knew him by the title, 'the Devil' or had heard tales of his sadism, the ovation was muted. Custom dictated that Bellême's fellow Councillors should honour him by bowing in return, although the unwillingness of some was obvious in how stiffly they bent their heads. Only Alain remained straight-backed and unmoving, an intended public slight which did not go unnoticed. Godric followed his uncle's example, for he would rather die than honour the man whose very existence was a blight on Britain. Half cast in the shadows of the litter's silk curtains, Melusine's victorious leer widened.

Gofanon raised a hand and silence returned to the assembly.

'Welcome to the Wizengamot, Robert of Bellême. We hope that you bring honour and wisdom to the ancient seat chosen for you. Now, let us turn to other matters...'

Gofanon then spoke of the laws which governed magical Britain and the court of magic was opened. Laws and petty crimes were dealt with, feuds settled and judgements passed. Such things as magical beast infringements were discussed, from the prohibiting of hippogriff poaching and the most recent arguments between wizards and the centaur tribes of northern Scotland. In addition, a group of London-based merchants and dealers in magical goods tried to barter for greater controls over dragon hunting in a bid to monopolise the trading rights of such exotic fare and secure their wealth against encroaching goblin traders. Godric even recognised the wizard Ethelred the Ever-Ready, who was forced to stand before the Wizengamot to be fined half a man's weight in silver for the violent brawl they had witnessed days before. He was jeered by the crowd as he was broodingly escorted under guard from the hilltop. Other than this, Godric found the proceedings needlessly pompous and mundane. In contrast, Salazar appeared to relish in the prestigious customs on display.

However, as the tedious proceedings droned on, Salazar decided that it would be an appropriate time to educate Godric's ignorant mind by pointing out the most famous wizards who were gathering on the summit.

'That's Viviana the Breton,' Salazar said quietly, gesturing at the austere woman who sat rigidly upon the seat closest to Alain's left. She had long dark hair which was streaked with grey and a pale, proud face. A young wizard and witch, who could only be a few years older than Salazar, stood stiffly at her shoulders, who shared an uncanny appearance. Godric remembered Alain saying that this witch was a powerful ally, 'she was a kinswoman of Taillefer the Mad, Alain's master. The two next to her are Viviana's former apprentices, the siblings Lancel the Virtuous and Isobel the Enchantress. They are now her most prominent supporters and I have heard many tales of their prowess.'

Godric nodded, understanding that Salazar was telling him that the young duo could prove to be valuable allies. Salazar next turned to an iron-bearded man, who was scowling sullenly at his peers. At his back were a small contingent of tall wizards and witches, all with the colouring inherent in English blood. Indeed, in appearance alone Godric would have fit in well with them and Salazar soon confirmed that this was Oswin Longbottom.

'A wily old fox,' Salazar muttered, his gaze on Longbottom, 'he would have had to be to survive the Harrying with his familial power intact. Yet, many of his kin still fell and the power of English wizardry was just as broken as their Seidr allies, which is why he is a vocal critic of Lord Alain. Those gathered about him are the few English families who endured the bloodshed or did not flee to the Scottish hills, the Abbots, Blackwoods and Redferns. I've heard that they've all been involved in the rebellions against the old King. The Redfern's especially were rumoured to have a habit of abetting rebels, then retreating back into the fens before they could be discovered. The English have grown quiet since Rufus took the throne and are content to let Longbottom speak for them…'

Gofanon sat on his conjured throne, his gnarled hands entwined as he sat and dispensed wisdom. At his feet was Helga, sitting cross-legged and looking deceptively disinterested with the ongoing proceedings. Behind him stood a host of kinsmen from the sprawling hills of Wales, of which even Salazar could name only a few of the most prominent mages amongst them. He didn't even attempt to list their ancestral lines or familial allegiances, for the kinship ties between the wizards of Wales was as expansive as the Western seas and notoriously complex. Godric had expected to see more Welsh wizards on the hill's summit, but Salazar soon explained that Welsh wizardry had been severely gutted by an English incursion before the Conquest and many others had been felled during squabbles in the years since. They had never recovered the power they had enjoyed in the days of Merlin or even in those of Gofanon's youth, but thanks to the longevity of the great wizard, still retained some of their former influence.

Another aged figure was perched on the subsequent stone seat. He had a narrow, clean-shaven face with a pronounced nose and small calculative eyes, which gave him the stark appearance of an old hawk. His back was hunched, although he still bore the bearing of a man who had once been a tall and intimidating presence in his youth. Dark hair speckled with grey hung down to his shoulders. Beside him stood a tall young man who Godric instantly recognised, having encountered him only the night before.

'Black,' Godric murmured lightly, but loud enough to surprise Salazar with his knowledge,

'Yes,' Salazar said coolly, 'Ranulph Black, a wizard of disreputable character but with blood purer than most. He was held in high esteem in his younger days, although some say that wisdom has given way to madness. It's probably why he has allowed his son the honour of standing beside him. That's a surprising development considering the Black's usually hoard power, even from members of their own brood. Like Lord Gofanon told us, Amalric Black is said to have the shrewdness and wit that his father's madness has robbed him of. I'm surprised you knew them?'

'We're crossed paths,'

'You didn't fight them did you?' Salazar asked in alarm, now regretting leaving Godric to his own devices whilst he searched for a witch to bed.

'No,' Godric replied indignantly, 'I'll admit it wasn't amicable, but we didn't come to blows. His friend had insulted a maiden I befriended…'

Godric pointed towards where both Blacks and their cronies had amassed. Stood amidst them was a brooding Ramon Bigot, who stood at his friend's back with a mulish expression. Salazar raised an eyebrow and couldn't help smirking,

'You almost got into a fight with one of the most prominent upcoming wizards in Britain? Over a girl?' Salazar probed, rolling his eyes, 'Godric, you do know that the songs about heroic knights chivalrously defending the honour of beautiful maidens are _just_ songs. No one in their right minds does that in real life,'

Godric just shrugged and Salazar sighed in exasperation,

'Well, at least it wasn't Black you insulted,' Salazar admitted, 'you might be able to poleaxe any poor sod brave enough to face you, but it is said that the Black's favour using poisons, dark spells and daggers in the night to dispose of their enemies. Probably why they've voiced support for Melusine…'

Their eyes turned to where the witch lounged on her litter. Her smile was dazzling, a feature as bewitching as any spell, but her eyes never paused as she keenly searched the expressions of her rivals and supporters, noting who had applauded Bellême the loudest and those who had been hesitant or hadn't at all. Slightly ahead of her sat Bellême, whose gaze was glued on his fiercest rival. This was the first time the great lords had met since they had met in battle outside Rorchester and the tension between them was palpable. Bellême had not missed Alain's refusal to applaud his election and now pride called for revenge for the slight. Yet, he did nothing, content to bide his time and listen patiently as Gofanon distributed the council's justice to a band of wizarding felons. The chance to settle old scores would come in time.'

'They have a lot of followers,' Godric whispered, staring past Bellême to where a large group of men were clustered beneath his banner.

'Too many,' Salazar replied grimly as he observed them. At least a third of all those assembled at the Wizengamot must have stood beside the raised banners of Melusine and the House of Bellême, the largest accumulation of followers of any of the Wizengamot councillors. They were mostly comprised of men and women of the great Norman wizarding families; the Lestranges, Selwyn's and more of their ilk, although mages who hailed from other cultures stood amongst their ranks. The Ragnarssons were the foremost of these allies. Salazar leant over and whispered that he had spent a good part of the night talking with a trader from the Western Isles, who still held to the old ways of the Seidr and had familial ties in Iceland, that harsh land across the cold northern seas. They had spoken of the Ragnarssons and Salazar had managed to pry valuable snippets of gossip from the trader about Melusine's Icelanders. Of Thorvald he had repeated much of what Melusine had already disclosed to them. He had been a promising nobleman in the lands of ice and fire, a heroic figure and a friend to the rulers of Norway, whose fortunes had changed when he had drunkenly killed a man during an argument.

'What of Killer-Bjorn?' Godric asked curiously, eyeing the twitching and ill-looking man with dislike.

'His reputation is a wilder and more violent affair,' Salazar told him, 'many think he is cursed or has the blood of trolls and other abhorrent creatures in him. People avoid Killer-Bjorn and it is considered a misfortune to give him a place at a hearth. He is rumoured to take offence easily and has killed three men in duels to the death, where he butchered all his opponents. Allegedly, he becomes a beast in battle, consumed with madness and as wild as an animal…'

'A berserk?'

'I assume so,' Salazar shrugged, 'I thought they were a myth told to young children to keep them from misbehaving, but apparently in those wild lands they are common enough. Granted, I did have to ply the trader with a lot of mead to make him so amiable, so they could just be the ramblings of a drunkard. Surprising how a drink loosens a man's tongue.'

'Hugh says that such men exist and that they are a fearful sight in battle,' said Godric, staring at the wild Icelander, 'but he also said that if you can keep your wits about you, they are easy enough to overcome.'

'I don't care,' said Salazar, 'I'd rather avoid such a meeting if I can help it…'

Godric nodded before his gaze moved away from the grim Icelanders. He recognised Philip of Bellême, standing stiffly by Melusine's litter and saw a pair of unfamiliar angelic men standing at Bellême's shoulder. Beside the banner of Bellême, a shield emblazoned with two fiery serpents entwined in battle and a golden apple clutched in their claws was levitating above them.

Godric heard Salazar's intake of breath and could sense the anger which radiated from at the sight of Melusine's chosen device.

'The old crone,' he growled incredulously, 'is there no limit to her arrogance? Do you see how she has adopted a device that contests Alain's legitimacy as Lord of Avalon?'

'How?' Godric asked naively,

'An apple,' Salazar spat, 'the symbol of Avalon. Melusine has chosen it to refer to her claim to Avalon. Do you see that it is clutched in the hands of two entwined dragons, one white and the other red, joined in battle? That's Merlin's device, chosen for him after his deeds at Dinas Emry's. By adopting his coat of arms, Melusine is declaring that as the last of Merlin's bloodline, she is the rightful ruler of the land he called his own.'

Godric nodded, before pointing at the pair of angelic figures,

'Who are those two men?'

'Who?' Salazar murmured absent-mindedly, still fuming over Melusine's indirect attack on the legitimacy of Alain's claim to Avalon.

'Then men who could be mistaken for angels,' clarified Godric, gesturing at the two men at Bellême's shoulder. Salazar followed his gaze before his own narrowed,

'They are fair of colour and skin,' Salazar frowned, 'and I'd wager gold on both of them carrying the blood eyes of their family?'

'You know them?'

'Not their names, but I can guess which family sired them,' Salazar nodded, 'they are Villons, a family of wizards from the South of Normandy and dependants of the House of Bellême. They may resemble angels, but their hearts belong to the devil. Being born with red eyes hints at the darkness of their souls. I've heard that they are Bellême's enforcers, wizards whose bloody mindlessness even exceeds that of their sadistic master.'

Godric shivered involuntarily, his disbelief evident. In Godric's opinion, there could be no one as capable of evil deeds as Sir Robert of Bellême. Yet, it made sense that such a vile man attracted followers of a similar immoral nature. Godric spat once into the loose stones and clumps of yellowed grass at his feet and moved on, no longer wanting to think of Bellême or those who supported him.

The figure who completed the circle of councillors was Cinead of the Hallow-Hills. He was a very tall middle-aged man, whose skeletal frame was covered in tight, sinewy muscle. Unlike the wild collection of dependants he had amassed for the Wizengamot, who bore a panoply of beards and greasy hair, Cinead appeared to be a highly fastidious man with skin heavily laden with blue tattoos and close-cropped greying hair. He lacked the dominating presence of his peers, appearing almost frail, with a nervous gaze which constantly darted anxiously about him. He must have had some hidden steel in his heart, Godric thought dubiously, or it must have taken a Christian miracle for Cinead to reach such a prestigious position of power. It seemed like a strong wind could oust him from his seat, let alone a determined rival.

The motley band at Cinead's back was a fearsome rabble, although they were clearly fractured.

'They must be the Firebrands,' Salazar said, nodding towards where Edwin stood, still garbed in robes which he hoped imbued him with added gravitas, but which rather gave him an uncanny resemblance to a pompous peacock. Crowded around him were other mages from the Scottish lowlands and court of their King, who were all young in age and smiling in anticipation for the debate to come. Their rivals were older and wilder in look, their expressions hardened by years exposed to the harsh weathers of their highland homeland. Each faction held no love for the other and it would have been no surprise if a mass brawl were to break out between them. Cinead certainly didn't appear capable of maintaining order. Godric noticed that Aidan and Rowena were stood with the older faction.

'Scatter-Brains here then,' Salazar scoffed, 'I hoped Cinead would be wise enough not to bring him here. He seems to have fallen on better times by the look of his clothes. Let's hope he's gained some wisdom or who knows what trouble the fool could start…'

Salazar paused abruptly, his eyes widening at the same moment Godric's heart sank, for Salazar must have finally caught sight of Rowena. It came as no surprise, for she was a striking witch and Salazar's eyes weren't the only ones which stared in her direction.

'Merlin's beard,' the older squire exclaimed, 'is that his daughter? She's a beauty. Who would have thought such a girl could be sired from Scatter-Brain's loins. Her mother must have been a goddess. I may have to reconsider that betrothal offer. No future could be bad with her to share your bed…'

Godric growled under his breath as his fists clenched. He suddenly felt a surprising sensation lurch to life, one that told his heart that it did not want Salazar to pursue Rowena. He watched Rowena for a moment, noticing that she was taking a great interest in the proceedings of the first Wizengamot she had been allowed to attend. Even when she tucked a loose strand of windblown hair absentmindedly behind an ear, her eyes never left the arena where criminals guarded by the purple-robed Watchers were being judged and sentenced for their crimes. His friend was a great man, but Rowena was an earthbound star and the thought of her in Salazar's lascivious hands made his skin crawl with jealousy.

'If you say so,' Godric shrugged, far more nonchalantly than he felt. He shifted uncomfortably, then nudged Salazar's attentive gaze away from the unsuspecting Rowena. He used more strength than he intended, almost sending Salazar sprawling to the ground. The younger wizard hurriedly gestured to the entire assembly as his friend regained his balance and looked at him disgruntledly.

'Who are the others gathered here?' he said as blandly as he could, indicating many wizards and witches who were dotted haphazardly amidst the factions. Salazar continued to frown at his peculiar behaviour, before shaking his head.

'They are mages who hail from families with no affiliation to any of the major factions,' answered Salazar helpfully, 'or those who have earned their place amongst the elite through great deeds.'

Scrutinising them closely, Godric soon discovered that these wizards were some of the fiercest, most noble and otherworldly practitioners of magic he had ever seen and he marvelled at the names and accomplishments which Salazar listed for his naive benefit. There was Nolwenn the Fae-Whisperer, an enigmatic fae-like woman from the mists of Ireland, with a solemn face and orb-like eyes, who was a prophetess of the divine Great Mother, a goddess of the Ancients. With her stood the famous Dewa Swift-wand, a wizarding warrior of great renown; the wild-looking Child of Hilda called Woden of the True-Faith; Hama the Harbinger, a breeder of rare creatures. More notable was the presence of a man who simply went by the byname Muggle-Bane, whose ferocious features, which included a necklace made from bone and a helmet adorned with a child's bloodstained skull, were only equal to those of the redoubtable Hugh Troll-Bane.

More Norman families had also attended. This included the striking Lady Azors and the keen-eyed Peredur Peverell. The head of the Nott family was also there, accompanied by his squib-born heir.

'Is it such a problem?' asked Godric, 'being Squib-born?'

Salazar rolled his eyes at his friend's ignorance,

'Of course it is. No one would accept his son's legitimacy if he is Squib-born. In the eyes of most purebloods, being born to a squib is almost as disastrous to a wizard's fortunes as being illegitimate. Nott denies it of course. Dark rumours have been told about the mother's fate, and those of the accomplices he had murdered so that the truth would be buried with her.'

'Bastard,' Godric growled, as Salazar explained to a revolted Godric that there was a reason behind the madness, for Squibs were widely considered the lowest of the low, equal only in status to slaves in the social order.

'It is the world we live in,' Salazar shrugged coolly,

'Then we must change it!' Godric declared fervently. Salazar smiled at Godric's passion but chose not to comment on it.

A small band of hardened Seidr from the wind-battered shores of the Western Isles had also accepted the Wizengamot's summons. They were assembled in their own band, content to be left to their own ends because they held little love for any of the factions at the Wizengamot, including their fellow Seidr.

Godric shook his head. With all these great lords and wizards assembled in one place, all nursing rivalries and clamouring to be heard, it was a miracle that the Wizengamot got anything constructive done. He was about to say so when Salazar hurriedly shoved him with his shoulder, startling Godric so that he stumbled slightly. Resisting the urge to shove his smirking friend back, he stayed silent as Salazar gestured at the assembly,

'The law courts have finished,' Salazar whispered urgently, unable to hide his anticipation, 'Alain will speak soon…' Godric instantly brightened, as he turned to where the last felon of the day was being led away in chains by a pair of dour Watchers. Despite his own excitement, he still retaliated to Salazar's shove and quickly jabbed his friend in the ribs with a clenched fist. Salazar yelped at the unexpected hit, causing a few of the men and women who crowded about them to stare disapprovingly.

'Quiet!' Hugh growled, glaring at the pair. They stopped speaking instantly, although when Godric caught Salazar scowling at him, he couldn't help the little chuckle which escaped him. Hugh's withering glare grew at the same moment Godric's smirk widened. However, the young wizard had enough sense to keep quiet.

The assembly again grew silent as Gofanon rose and all eyes turned to wait for the ancient wizard to speak.

'Friends,' he said, using his wand to magically enhance the volume of his voice so that it echoed about them, 'now we must hear the reason for this gathering. The Wizengamot was called by Alain Greycloak, Lord of Avalon and Grand-Sorcerer to the King of England. I invite him to stand and tell us why he asked for the Wizengamot to meet.'

Bowing his head, Gofanon gestured for Alain to stand. Alain stood slowly and Godric marvelled at the power which radiated from his uncle. The Lord of Avalon embodied the ideal of a noble magnate, from the bejewelled belt and gilded scabbard at his hip, to the shining grey cloak about his shoulders, which had been inlaid with silver thread and charmed to shine like stars on a cloudless night. His fair hair was freshly oiled and tied back in a warrior's braid, whilst his grey-flecked beard gifted him an air of unyielding authority lacking in younger men. Alain knew that he faced many enemies at this assembly, but he stood tall and defiant, his hands resting comfortably at his sides and at ease with standing before such an honoured audience.

Alain honoured Gofanon with a low bow, before turning to face the wizards surrounding him. Only the flapping of colourful banners in the wind disrupted the silence.

'Esteemed lords and ladies,' he began in a clear voice, 'kinsmen and friends. You have done me great honour by answering this call. It is with a heavy heart that I bring grave tidings to you. Just over a moon cycle ago, I was called upon to fulfil my role as Grand-Sorcerer for the King of England and I was needed as a peace envoy in Scotland. War had broken out with Malcolm of Scotland and my King wanted to avoid embroiling wizards in the conflict. We were a delegation of peace…'

A growl rose from the crowd at this assertion. Alain of Avalon was a reputed warrior, whose deeds as a leader of the Old King's armies during the Harrying had won him many enemies. These adversaries now made their disbelief and discontent with Alain heard, although they quietened when Gofanon raised a hand to silence them. Godric tensed at the sound, once again unaccustomed to the level of malice directed at his uncle.

'…and we acted as an envoy of peace. We met with a contingent of wizards sent by our friend, Cinead of the Hallow Hills, and agreed that neither the wizards of England nor those in Scotland would bear arms in this year's campaigns. Content that I had fulfilled my duty, I made to return to Avalon. However, my peaceful journey was interrupted in the hills of northern England, when I was attacked by a war-band.'

There was a shocked gasp. It was a grave and dishonourable crime to attack any wizard who rode under the banner of peace. Even in times of war, custom dictated that a peaceful envoy was entitled to travel throughout any land and walk freely amongst any peoples, without fear of being attacked. It was an honourable tradition established long before the coming of Merlin and a code which transcended many cultures across the breadth of the magical world. Alain waited long enough for the true enormity of his account to sink in before continuing,

'It was an ambush as well prepared as any I have seen, for my attackers had lain in wait for many days. It was clear from the onset that they sought my death. Fortunately, my retinue fought them off, but not without casualties. Hadrian the Easterner, one of my sworn men, was felled by a poisoned arrow. He was a good man, a loyal wizard and a soldier who accepted that peril would always be a constant companion, especially in the service of the Lord of Avalon's retinue. But when riding under the banner of peace, he deserved better than to meet such a cruel end. I have called the Wizengamot to seek justice, justice for Hadrian the Easterner…'

'Lord Alain,' Viviana the Breton asked, 'what became of the man who led these attackers?'

'He lost his life,' Alain answered, 'many of the warriors carried no badge, being mere brutes or masterless men hired for the attack. But I recognised their leader by a ring he bore, which displayed the device of his clan…'

Alain opened the palm of his hand, revealing the ring he had taken from the corpse of the wizard Godric had killed. With a wave of his hand, the ring was enlarged so that it resembled a king's crown. Another wandless spell levitated the ring to a large boulder near the centre of the Wizengamot's circle. Every eye followed it, before quickly turning to one of the many banners which stood behind Melusine's litter. A sudden gust of wind caught the linen flag so that for a brief instant it shone resplendent in the breeze, proudly displaying the white falcon of the Ragnarssons. It was identical to the emblem which had been carved into the ring.

'The man, who so dishonourably led this attack, hailed from the Ragnarssons. He bore the device of their family. As the Lord of Avalon and a privileged member of the Wizengamot, I demand weregild from them as compensation for the death of my sworn man. Only then will I deem that justice has been done.'

Godric saw that those wizards who stood closest to Melusine and Bellême's faction and who held no loyalty to either were now distancing themselves from the banner of the Ragnarssons. Thorvald glared at Alain and Killer-Bjorn twitched. The scowl he levelled at Alain with those wild eyes made no secret of his desire to tear the Lord of Avalon apart with his bare hands. However, their patron merely looked disinterested with the proceedings, hiding a yawn behind a manicured hand before languidly wetting her lips with a sip of rich wine.

At first, Bellême remained staring blankly at Alain and gave nothing of his thoughts away. Then he stood and raised his clenched fist, signalling to the Council that he wished to speak.

'What the Lord of Avalon says concerns me greatly,' Bellême said and Godric was surprised at how elegantly he spoke. Godric had spent years believing that Bellême was nothing more than a brute. Now he was finally seeing the Robert of Bellême who wielded huge influence in both the worlds he inhabited. His power equalled Alain's and inspired support from many followers, whilst his father's family held great swathes of land along the Welsh Marches. It was a sobering sight, Godric thought bitterly, as Bellême continued, 'and it is a very convincing tale. But I'm afraid it has its flaws and such unfounded accusations cannot remain unchallenged.'

Bellême pointed to the two Ragnarssons who stood in Melusine's entourage.

'There stands two men of the Ragnarsson clan, lords amongst the Seidr who both bear the device of the white falcon. They are honourable warriors, descended from a pure bloodline and have recently sworn loyalty to the Lady Melusine, the last descendant of Merlin. These Icelanders tell a different account of what happened on that day...'

'And what tale is this, Sir Robert?' Alain asked cordially, although his tone held a thinly veiled layer of ice.

'One that contrasts with your own, Lord of Avalon,' Bellême replied, 'they agree that a battle did take place between the Ragnarssons and the warriors of Avalon. But not in the hills of northern England like you say. They have sworn on their honour that they fought in self-defence, for they were waylaid by Lord Alain in the foothills of the highlands. The Lord of Avalon used the banner of peace as a deception to lure the Rurik Ragnarsson to his bloody fate. This trap resulted in the deaths of half-a-dozen men, including their kinsman, Rurik Ragnarsson…'

There was a murmur from some quarters of the gathered assembly, for the name of Rurik Ragnarsson was known to many wizards who hailed from the lands north of England's border. Alain seemed untroubled by the accusation,

'There is a marked difference between these tales,' Alain acknowledged coldly, 'one is based on truth and the other on unfounded lies. Who bore witness to this alleged attack, for I would like to face the man who accuses me of such a grave crime?'

Thorvald the Grim stepped forwards, his scowl fixed on the Lord of Avalon.

'My kinsman Killer-Bjorn the Icelander was there and saw it all,' he pointed at Alain, 'this man led his household warriors in an unprovoked attack on our settlements. He killed many men and displaced our women and children. He has no honour!'

'This man,' Gofanon said loudly, interrupting Thorvald's tirade, 'is a member of the Wizengamot. You are not. Hold your tongue, Icelander. Your turn to speak will come, if the Council wills it. But you must wait until Lord Alain of Avalon has spoken, for it was he who was granted approval to speak. If you still dispute his tale, then you may argue against it later…'

'Lord Gofanon,' Bellême interjected smoothly. The Welshman looked momentarily taken aback, unused to having another wizard interrupt him so confidently, 'Lord Alain has already given his reasons for calling the Wizengamot together. Yet, this Hadrian of which he speaks was only a commoner. Rurik Ragnarsson was of purer blood than this wizard of the East. He was born on these very shores. Don't our ancient laws demand that the case of a Britain should be heard before any foreigner in a court of law? The Ragnarssons should be afforded the chance to have their grievances heard first.'

Godric saw Gofanon's gaze flicker to Alain, who was standing as motionless as one of the stone statues which littered Avalon's grounds.

'Bastard,' he heard Salazar mutter beside him. Yet, he was unable to mask the glimmer of respect he felt for how Bellême had turned the situation in his favour.

'What's going on Salazar?'

'Bellême is rolling the dice, seeking an advantage,' Salazar whispered hurriedly, refusing to take his eyes from the court, 'if the Ragnarssons speak first, then they can sway the crowd's opinion in their favour before Lord Alain has a chance to speak for Hadrian. Our rivals are scenting a weakness and are out for blood.'

Godric detected a hint of worry lacing Salazar's voice. He returned his attention to Gofanon. The aged wizard bowed his head, grudgingly acknowledging that Bellême was in the right. Hadrian had hailed from lands far to the East and now his distant birthplace had hindered Alain's pursuit of justice. Alain's tightly clenched jaw was the only outward sign of his anger, but there was little he could do to counter laws which had stood for over a thousand years. The Lord of Avalon dared not openly express his frustration. Those wizards who were impressed with Bellême's audacity were already muttering amongst the crowd. The thinly veiled smugness Melusine flashed in Alain's direction did nothing to improve the Lord of Avalon's mood.

'Thorvald and Killer-Bjorn Ragnarssons are Icelanders by birth,' Alain interjected harshly, 'and are outlaws in their homeland. Such vagabonds are not permitted to speak at the Council. Do you speak for them Sir Robert?'

'Not I,' Bellême answered diffidently, 'that honour should fall to the witch who holds their oath. The Lady Melusine knows them best. I invite her to speak in Ragnarsson name.'

'That's impossible,' Alain challenged as Philip of Bellême diligently offered a hand to help Melusine to her feet, 'the Lady Melusine is an outlaw herself, exiled from these shores for the murder of her father, Elynas of Alba. She has flouted the judgement of the Wizengamot by returning to this island. Her very presence here is a violation…'

'The esteemed Lady has been exiled for many lives of men,' Bellême interrupted Alain rudely and so loudly that his voice carried over the crowd, 'for over a hundred years she has kept away from Britain, left to scrape for survival amongst Muggles. This, the last living descendant of Merlin's bloodline. Is this how the wizards of Britain honour the purest blood of all, by treating her like a Squib?'

'No one questioned the purity of her blood, Sir Robert,' Gofanon said coolly, 'what is being contested is her legitimacy to stand before the Wizengamot. Lord Alain spoke truthfully. I was there when the Lady Melusine was exiled. It was a unanimous decision from all the Councillors of the Wizengamot…'

'Merlin has granted you a long life, Lord Gofanon,' countered Bellême, 'a fate which has benefitted our world. But many lives have come and gone in the hundred years since that day. Lady Melusine has served her penance for a crime which was fuelled by the fire of youth. On my honour as a fae-knight and a member of the Wizengamot, I can verify that her remorse is genuine. I counsel my peers to overturn her exile and give Lady Melusine the right to speak here today…'

'One voice cannot overrule the majority, Sir Robert. Your word might be law on your own land, but here it is only one of many...'

'Let her speak,' came a shout from their left and all eyes turned to Ranulph Black, who had stood to address his peers, 'her blood is purer than many who stand here. Let Lady Melusine speak.'

No one missed the sneer the Lord of the Blacks sent Alain when he talked of blood purity. There was a grunt as Oswin Longbottom lumbered to his feet, staring balefully at his fellow Councillors.

'Let the woman speak,' he finally growled. They turned to Viviana the Breton, who remained seated. Only the slight shake of her head illustrated her choice. Of all the wizards on the Wizengamot, Viviana's home in Brittany provided her with ample access to rumours of Melusine's exploits and her dealings with the great Houses of Western Christendom. The disconcerting nature of these rumours made Viviana ill at ease with Melusine's presence. Moreover, if Alain had an ally on the Wizengamot, then it was the Breton witch who was a kinsman to his late master and who now stared disapprovingly at Longbottom and Black.

Finally, all eyes spun to stare at the fickle Cinead of the Hallow Hills, who seemed to wilt under the responsibility of landing the casting vote. The Scotsman glanced fearfully at his intimidating neighbour but was unable to meet Bellême's eyes.

'L-let her speak,' the wizard finally stuttered. He stumbled a little as he returned to his seat, flushing crimson in embarrassment. He didn't have the courage to face his dependants, who were shaking their heads in disapproval at their leader's spinelessness, muttering darkly to themselves. Godric saw Rowena shake her head at Cinead, with such contempt that Godric had to swiftly mask his amusement as a sudden coughing fit.

Gofanon ran a hand through his holly-sewn beard as he contemplated the verdicts of his illustrious peers.

'If the Council wills it,' Gofanon grudgingly conceded, running a hand through his plaited beard. He signalled for Melusine to step forward, 'Lady Melusine, the Wizengamot has decreed that you should be given the right to speak on behalf of the Ragnarssons. Can the _honour_ of these Icelanders be trusted?'

'As well as my own, Wise-one,' she replied eloquently with a smile that could melt the hearts of lesser men. Fortunately, Gofanon's will was made of iron and he ignored Melusine's attempt at flattery, refusing to speak further. His opinion of Melusine was clear to all those with the sense to see it. His thick golden bracelets rattled as he waved his arm to concede the floor to the witch and allow her to address the Wizengamot.

To begin with, Melusine did nothing but bask in the moment. The last time she had stood before the Wizengamot she was to be condemned for her crimes, stripped of her rank and exiled from her homeland. Many had thought that this would be the end of Melusine, daughter of Pressyne. Like her ancestor Nimue the Last, they believed that she'd spend her remaining years awaiting death in a distant corner of the world, wallowing in the shame of her ruinous exile.

However, many of those who attended the Wizengamot that day, her mother included, had long gone to their graves, powerless to stop Melusine's return. Now she confidently strode to the centre of the stone circle, where she stood resplendent before the crowd like a victorious Roman general of years long lost.

'Today is a great day,' she said clearly, 'for today, justice will be done. The death of Rurik Ragnarsson is a great loss. Not just for his kinsmen, but for Britain. Rurik was a great man. He was the son of Radnall Throat-biter, champion of the Seidr and the nephew of Ravn Ragnarsson, slayer of frost giants. His grandsire was Grand-Sorcerer to Cnut the Great and it is commonly known that the blood of bygone kings ran in his veins. Rurik Ragnarsson was the scourge of Viking raiders, a man whose honour and courage was never doubted. He was a true prince to his people, a title which should be remembered when the time comes to judge his killers…'

Godric exchanged a glance with Salazar. Neither apprentice had known the identity of the wizard Godric had killed and had thought it of little consequence, believing that the man had simply been a Ragnarsson hired for the task. It appeared as if Rurik Ragnarsson had been a figure of good standing amongst the communities which clung to the windswept islands of the far north.

'How can the death of such a champion compare to some foreigner from the East. Rurik Ragnarsson has given his blood for the people of Britain…'

'Not for me,' the Norman head of the Nott family growled. Although he was no ally of Lord Alain's, he had marched with the Old King's armies and fought against the Seidr during the Harrying. Kinsmen and comrades had been lost and Nott was reluctant to forgive those he felt were responsible.

'Have you ever given your blood for anyone?' Melusine shot back, before glancing at Nott's morose heir, 'besides sharing it with Squibs.' Nott bristled at the insult, reddening as amused chuckles broke out around him. His son's passivity roused his anger further, but Lord Nott managed to bite his tongue before he could retort. Melusine smiled,

'He may have spoken out of turn,' the witch admonished coolly, 'but there is truth to what Lord Nott says. Generations of Ragnarssons have spent as much time raiding Britain than they have defending it. Indeed, they were amongst the first Seidr to arrive on these shores in their dragon-ships, supporting their kings in campaigns of conquest and colonisation. Furthermore, the Lord of the Hallow Hills would surely agree, the wars between the Seidr and Scots is a timeless tradition and their feuds have lasted for centuries. Grudges are hard to forget, are they not, Lord Cinead?'

'I-I believe so, yes,' stuttered Cinead, bemused by Melusine's attention,

'How often, Lord Cinead,' she continued, blind to his discomfort, 'would you say that war breaks out between the Scots and their island neighbours?'

'M-more often than not, Lady,' Cinead responded cautiously, his frown deepening and his eyes shifting nervously, looking for support and finding none.

'I see,' Melusine pondered, 'will you please remind me, Lord Cinead, of how your father died?'

'He-he was killed,' replied Cinead,

'May I ask how?'

'In battle,' Cinead said, 'he was killed fighting against the Seidr.'

'Seidr dogs!' Aidan Scatter-brain interjected, far too loudly. Half the crowd heard the declaration which had been meant for his neighbour's ears alone. Eyes turned to where an unconcerned Aidan stood, including heated glares from the wizards of the Western Isles. Rowena looked scandalised by the impropriety of her father's behaviour, whilst the Scots around him shifted uncomfortably at the outburst. Cinead reddened, embarrassed by the lack of shame exhibited by his follower. Aidan's interruption had only served to further unsettle the Lord of the Hallow-Hills, as well as heightening the displeasure of the Seidr.

'He was killed in battle,' Melusine clarified loudly, puncturing the uncomfortable silence which had fallen following Aidan's foolish outburst, 'many say that to die in battle is a valiant and honourable end. What say you, Lord Cinead? Were you content with your father's death?'

'I…would anyone be content if their father was killed?'

'Some might,' Melusine clarified with an ominous smile, 'but not for you, Lord Cinead. Any loyal son would be angered by the violent death of a father. Who here wouldn't yearn to right such a wrong, to crave revenge for the mortal wounds done to a cherished kinsman? It would drive even the most tepid of men to madness. It could even drive someone to seek revenge.'

'What are you implying, Lady Melusine?' asked Viviana impatiently

'I'm merely curious, dear Viviana, about the lengths a man would go for revenge. I'm sure that our friend Cinead would readily admit that the cause of his father's death has influenced his brethren's struggles with their neighbours in the years since.'

'We are not here to talk of petty raids,' Gofanon interrupted peevishly, 'Lady, you digress. We are here to settle a dispute over an unlawful killing. Where are you going with this, Melusine?'

'I'm merely attempting to determine to what extent vengeance could drive a man to seek the death of another,' Melusine smiled, 'and if it did, what lengths would they go to achieve this goal. A war would put their supporters at risk and take a hefty sum of gold from their coffers. Wouldn't it be shrewder to employ another to undertake such a struggle? What say you, Lord Cinead?'

'I…I wouldn't know,' Cinead spluttered and Melusine's smile widened upon hearing his feeble answer,

'Strange,' the witch said, 'for I have heard differently. At the dawn of summer, disturbing news reached me. I was approached by the last of the Ragnarssons, who reported the death of their kinsman. More gravely still, they claimed that Rurik and his trusted followers were lured to the hills by Cinead of the Hallow-Hills, in the belief that they would peacefully discuss terms for settling the bitter disputes which have dogged their tribes for over a century. Little did he know that it was a ruse, for the Lord of the Hallow Hills had struck a deal with another wizard with the aim of ambushing Rurik on the roads. This mercenary would have to be a soldier with a reputation for bloodshed and whose name strikes fear into men's hearts.'

'Who?' Oswin Longbottom growled, ignoring his Scottish counterpart's spluttering protests.

'This wizard,' Melusine cried, her voice rising with every word, 'was the Flame-bearer of Avalon.'

Alain's retinue stirred, at the allegation and glared at Melusine, who was furiously pointing an accusing finger at the Lord of Avalon. Godric saw his uncle stiffen, but the expressionless mask he adorned gave none of his thoughts away.

'A tale worthy of the greatest bards, Lady Melusine,' Alain replied coolly, 'and one riddled with just as many falsehoods. What evidence do you have for such lies?'

'Rurik's kinsman,' Melusine answered immediately, gesturing at the brooding Icelander slouched beside her lover, 'Killer-Bjorn the Icelander claims it was so. At Rurik's request, Killer-Bjorn accompanied him into the foothills of Scotland. There they were set upon by a band of knights bearing the badge of Avalon. Blood was spilt and whilst Rurik fought bravely, he finally succumbed to the swords and spells of the enemy. The Seidr were forced to flee the field, leaving a dozen of their companions dead. It was a lightning raid, for once he had dispersed Rurik's men the Lord of Avalon rode on and brought devastation to Rurik's settlements. He lived up to his accursed name, burning homesteads and displacing their inhabitants. Such barbarity has not been practised in these islands since the Harrying…'

Alain's laughed coldly, greeting this jest with the humour it deserved as his mocking laughter silenced the witch. Salazar winced and Godric could tell that Salazar thought Alain had misjudged by showing amusement, for it was alienating the crowd. Many of the onlookers were now frowning at the Lord of Avalon's callousness. But Godric knew his uncle better; Alain was ruffled and his pride had suffered from the blow, so he greeted their tale with mocking derision.

'The word of an outlaw means nothing in this court,' Alain said coolly, refusing to clarify whether he spoke of Killer-Bjorn's accusation or Melusine herself. The witch's eyes narrowed, but her smile remained unwavering, 'it is no secret that I spent time in Scotland and that I met with a delegation sent by Lord Cinead. However, I came to that land in peace, not to bring war. What _legitimate_ evidence do you have that says otherwise?'

'Your reputation should be enough, Alain of Avalon,' Melusine shot back silkily, 'after first sailing to England as the stooge of the _Bastard_ Duke of Normandy, you earned a reputation as a formidable warrior. You have done little but bring fire and death to Britain. You revelled in the killing, displacing thousands and being the catalyst for many more deaths. You mercilessly drove the Seidr to the very fringes of this island and took the greatest title in Britain for yourself. How many of the wizards here have lost kin because of the actions of this man?'

'Neither the reputation of a wizard nor their actions in times of war are enough to condemn them before the Wizengamot,' decreed Viviana, 'if reputation was everything then you would not be standing here. If this is nothing more than an attempt to besmirch a respected servant to our people, Lady Melusine, then please desist. It is unbecoming of your bloodlines…'

The Breton looked impatient, having grown bored with the bickering, whilst Black and Longbottom appeared to be enjoying the piercing scrutiny that Alain currently faced. Black looked like he was dozing in his seat, although his son stood rigidly at his father's side and keenly soaked in all that was unfolding before him. Melusine bowed her head, conceding to the Breton witch's command,

'It is fortunate then,' Melusine continued with that disarming smile, 'that we have a witness,'

'The Icelander is a notorious outlaw, whose word and honour cannot be trusted,' Alain interrupted coldly,

'I wasn't talking about Killer-Bjorn,' Melusine said, her smile broadening as she fixed her predatory gaze on Alain, 'this man is a wizard of virtuous blood, who claims to have seen the agreement which led to this coercion. This wizard says he saw Alain of Avalon exploit the struggles between the Scots and the Seidr for his own profit.'

'Who,' Alain growled at the lie, 'claims they witnessed such a bribe?'

'I do,' someone shouted from the crowd. There was a gasp of astonishment as the firebrands parted and Edwin stepped into the ring. He hesitated, unnerved by his audience before bowing respectfully to the Wizengamot. Straightening, he glared at Alain. Godric simply gaped at the young man he had considered a friend, suddenly allied himself with his deadliest of foes. Salazar's eyes narrowed,

'Bastard,' Salazar growled, his hand itching to hold a wand. Alain's eyebrows rose towards his temple in surprise, but the Lord of Avalon was content to remain silent and hear what the young wizard had to say.

'May I introduce Edwin the Firebrand, a wizard of English descent and a loyal follower of the Lord of the Hallow Hills,' Melusine cried aloud, gesturing Edwin forward. The young man was extravagantly garbed and his beard had been neatly groomed as if he had sought to compensate for his youth by dressing the part of an accomplished wizard. Rowena hid a snort of derision behind her hand, amused by the ridiculousness of Edwin's outfit.

'We welcome you, young Firebrand,' Gofanon said coolly, 'now please, tell us what you saw?'

Edwin needed no further prompting and quickly launched into his tale. He described the war which had broken out in the spring and how wizards on both sides had hesitated in declaring open support. Then a message had reached the Lord of the Hallow Hills, a message born by one of the great hawks of the Lord of Avalon, bringing with it promises of peace. Cinead had been eager to meet, for war feasts on gold and he was constantly wary of the restless Seidr on his borders.

A delegation was sent to meet the Lord of Avalon and Edwin was included in their ranks. Although he came with empty promises of peace, but he was dressed for war, an intimidating presence to the humble Scots. Whilst they talked of a stalemate between wizards, they also spoke of war with the Seidr.

'You heard this?' Viviana inquired,

'I did, Lady,' Edwin replied firmly, 'from Aidan Scatter-brain's very mouth; he was Cinead's voice at the meeting…'

'Preposterous,' Cinead recoiled, sputtering in protest as he was incriminated in this intrigue, his voice squawking like that of an adolescent boy. Having never been a man who could judge the propriety of an occasion well, Aidan Scatter-brain was far more vocal,

'Lies,' Scatter-brain cried in fury, 'my honour is being sullied by an untried boy and a band of Seidr swine.'

An angry clamour rose up from Edwin's friends, whilst the Seidr from all corners of Britain growled at the insult. A fair-haired wizard clad in a huge bear cloak of white fur and a tattooed, wind-ravaged face stepped forward from his place amongst the men of the Western Isles. He stared at Aidan with eyes as colourless as the icy shores which lay beyond the fringes of the world,

'No man insults me,' he grunted in his thick brogue, 'do it again, and I'll rip out your tongue and feed it to my dogs.'

'Do you know who I am?' Aidan shouted pompously and to Godric it looked as if the wiry wizard was on the verge of starting a brawl.

'A fool!' came a shout from an unknown source hidden deep within the crowd. The cry caused a cringing Rowena to redden even further in humiliation at her father's uncouth behaviour. The comment was lost on Aidan, but not on the man he faced, who let out a bark of laughter.

'A fool,' he chuckled darkly, sizing Aidan up, 'a little fool. Your mind is addled little man. In my lands, men like you have little to do with the dealings of lords. They stay at home with the women and children. Stop your yapping and let real lords' talk…'

'You miserable, flea-ridden whoreson…' Aidan cried in rage. The Western Islander's laughter died. He levelled Rowena's father with a look which could have made the fiercest of berserks shiver.

'I promise that you will come to rue this day,' he threatened forebodingly.

'Peace, Aidan,' Gofanon called from his raised seat, wisely calming Aidan before the argument could escalate any further, 'you will cease this senseless quarrelling and act according to your status. That goes for you as well, Ivar of the Western Isles. No feud will come of this…'

Both wizards looked sullen, but accepted the Welshman's ruling without argument, although it was obvious by their dissatisfied glares that the feud would not die. Rowena appeared furious with her father's foolishness, whilst the crowd, robbed of the brief entertainment brought to a premature close, their attention returned to the law-court,

'I'm glad you spoke up, Aidan Scatter-brain,' Melusine smiled at Aidan, 'even if it was done as unwittingly as your name suggests. Who would have thought it possible for a man to squander both his wits and his wealth with the same ease? You look to have fallen on better times recently. That cloak you wear looks newly made, Scatter-brain. I heard you were impoverished, but surely someone so richly garbed cannot be. May I ask where you found the money for such a noble garment? Have you invented an object that can turn stone to gold? I doubt it, for such a thing is the stuff of dreams…'

'It was a gift,' the Scot grumbled stubbornly, shuffling uncomfortably,

'A gift?' Melusine said thoughtfully, 'you have generous friends, Scatter-Brain. Are you sure your miraculous wealth wasn't acquired by other means?'

'I don't know what you are talking about,' Aidan growled, ignoring the pointed glares of his comrades, including the glowering Lord of the Hallow Hills, whose scowl was the most thunderous of all.

'I think you do,' Melusine asserted, 'you were sent to meet the Lord of Avalon, were you not? You were given gold, a bribe you were instructed to offer to the Lord of Avalon in the hope that it would buy his aid in an unprovoked attack on the Seidr.'

'These are unfounded lies,' Cinead cried out, bristling under the scrutiny of his peers.

'One of your own says otherwise,' Melusine gestured at Edwin. Gofanon interrupted them, asking Edwin if he saw gold pass hands.

'I didn't, Lord,' Edwin admitted awkwardly, 'but I heard it offered…'

'You cannot condemn a man based on hearsay,' Gofanon growled impatiently, 'if you have nothing but rumour to contribute, then I suggest you leave this debate to greater wizards…'

Edwin looked perturbed at being dismissed, but he was far from done. He had hoped to dazzle the great mages of Britain and with his distinguished appearance, he was determined to do so.

'I didn't see the gold pass hands, Lord,' said Edwin, 'but during a break in the counsel, Scatter-Brain chose to sit with the men of Avalon. The gold could have been passed into his hands then.'

'But it may not have,' Gofanon reminded him curtly, his impatience with the young Firebrand growing.

'Lord Gofanon speaks wisely,' said Melusine, 'for it appears that the fool kept the gold for himself. Yet, there are other means to buy a man's heart. The newfound wealth that this wizard so carelessly displays could have been acquired from a betrothal agreement?'

'What?' Aidan yelped in surprise,

'He does have a daughter of marriageable age,' Melusine continued, pausing to glance at Rowena, who tried not to redden under the notorious witch's scrutiny, 'a lovely creature, despite her pedigree. A wizard would pay a large bride price to share her bed. I believe it is no secret that Aidan Scatter-Brain has offered the girl to every wifeless man here…'

'Lady Melusine is right,' Edwin added insistently, 'I overheard them speaking of marriage. Scatter-Brain was trying to foist his daughter on the men of Avalon. I swear it's true.'

Godric resisted the impulse to hit Edwin. He was furious at the young wizard, although his anger was tempered by the sudden realisation that it wasn't just Edwin's long held grudge against Alain or his disenchantment with Cinead's leadership that fuelled his accusations. It was clear that Edwin earnestly believed that what he said was true. The Firebrand believed that it was more than just chance that a battle had been fought between Avalon and the Seidr so soon after Cinead's delegation had offered Alain a bribe to make war on them. His hatred of Alain merely served to blind him to the outside influences which were at play on the great throw-board of wizarding politics. Godric pitied Edwin, for he was an honourable man whose heart sought to do good. He found it harder to forgive Firebrand for sullying Rowena's name, for she did not deserve to be dragged into this venomous debate. Salazar was far less charitable and his forgiveness less forthcoming.

'Bloody fool,' Salazar hissed contemptuously, 'can't he see he is being played. He thinks he is being treated as an equal, when in reality he is just another expendable gaming piece to be exploited and then disposed of when his usefulness has been fulfilled.'

'I already have a wife,' Alain growled,

'But your young apprentices do not,' Melusine pointed out, 'and they are of age. Besides, is your marriage truly legitimate? Can the union between a man and a creature of Avalon be legitimised by marriage? Your perverse tastes, Lord of Avalon, are well known, as is your wife's barrenness. In the absence of an heir to carry on a wizard's bloodline, it is natural to pass dynastic ambitions to fosterlings or apprentices. Perhaps you even seek a mortal wife, to prove your manhood and father a son whose blood is not sullied by that of beasts…'

'ENOUGH,' Alain suddenly snapped. Gone was the dignified statesman, to be replaced by a warlord of great renown. A powerful aura seemed to expand about him as the slur fuelled his rage. He could weather any attack on his own honour, and Alain had long ago become accustomed to such comments about his marriage. Yet he would stomach no insult to his beloved Morwenna and no one had ever dared call her a beast in his presence before. The air about him shimmered with magic as he wrestled for control, 'I have stood here and listened to you speak for these Ragnarssons with the same verve you give to _all_ your undertakings, Lady Melusine. But I no longer tolerate it. You have squandered enough time tarnishing my name and right to the lordship of Avalon. Why don't you say what you truly wish to speak of? Accuse me of the unlawful killing of Rurik Ragnarsson and let fate judge the truth….'

The steel in Alain's voice provoked a gasp from the crowd. A tense silence descended as the onlookers waited for Melusine to respond to his challenge. The witch answered with a scornful smile, untouched by Alain's anger.

'How impressive,' she drawled sarcastically, 'you seem rattled, Lord of Avalon. Maybe it is your conscience which makes you uneasy or the guilt which rightly plagues your soul?'

'There is little doubt that you led the attack that cost Rurik Ragnarsson his life,' Bellême continued, smoothly taking the reins from his former mentor as he rose to his feet to face his rival across the hill's crowded summit, 'but he did not lose it by your hand. It was your apprentice who delivered the killing blow. As a Councillor of the Wizengamot, I accuse Godric of Avalon of the unlawful killing of Rurik Ragnarsson.'

'Shit,' Godric heard Salazar murmur bleakly over the stunned silence. The deadly trap had been sprung, and it had ensnared Godric as the prowling wolves pounced...


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Accused

**Accused**

The crowd's reaction was instantaneous. A wave of shock followed Bellême's announcement as the eyes of every mage turned to look at the banner of Avalon and the tall, red-haired wizard stood beneath it. Godric was faintly aware of the gazes of his companions but could do nothing but gape. He could barely breathe, let alone focus his wits on schooling his features into an expressionless mask. He could not even fully comprehend the magnitude of the accusation which had just been levelled at him.

'Fuck!' Salazar cursed, his mind already racing as he encapsulated every emotion Godric felt in one choice word. Helga shifted uncomfortably at her great-grandfather's feet, stunned by the attack on her newfound friend. Godric couldn't look at Rowena, unable to bear the mistrust and horror he was sure he'd see. However, in this, he was thankfully mistaken and Rowena's initial shock was soon displaced by concern. Edwin the Firebrand visibly blanched, having been ignorant of this plot.

Alain looked grim.

'On whose word do you accuse him?'

'Mine,' the wild Killer-Bjorn growled, 'I was there. On my staff, sword and honour, I accuse this little runt of killing my kinsman.'

'Your lies are as dark as you soul, Icelander,' Alain snapped, 'this is a Council for lords, not rogues, so hold your tongue.' Killer-Bjorn spat from his rotting mouth and looked ready to pursue this argument further if had not been check by Bellême.

'There are many more men whose word supports his claim, Lord of Avalon,'

'Brigands and vagabonds; men who sold their honour when they took gold from the Ragnarssons,' Alain countered, 'my own retinue will swear that Godric is innocent…'

'You are known to consort with Muggles,' said Melusine, briefly glancing at Hugh Troll-bane, 'you have even included many in the ranks of your own household. The words of Muggles are worth nothing here.'

'Robert of Bellême is a magnate of the realm, same as I,' Alain growled furiously, 'his influence in the Muggle world is just as great as mine, yet you do not hound him for such an affiliation!'

'Sir Robert displays true wizarding pride,' Melusine shot back; 'he doesn't simper or bend his knee to lesser men, but does honour to his bloodline. Sir Robert does not pollute the most sacred of wizarding places with Muggle blood. Sir Robert does not encourage his apprentices to kill trained wizards…'

'I speak for Godric,' Alain growled, 'and on my word, he is innocent…'

'Like you spoke for Bunel when he hacked off my mother's head?' Bellême spoke up, his eyes flashing.

'I denounced Hugh Bunel's actions, as all the Wizengamot did,' Alain snapped back, 'would you really punish an innocent youth for an imagined slight, Bellême?'

'You have shown misplaced loyalty before, Lord Alain,' Melusine interjected, 'you refused to have Bunel punished for the murder of Mabel of Bellême and due to your inaction, the villain escaped rightful justice. Would you deny the Ragnarssons the rightful compensation afforded to those who have lost a kinsman unlawfully?'

'Godric acted to defend my life,' Alain declared fiercely, 'our laws state that an apprentice may raise a wand against fully-fledged wizards if their master's life is threatened. Rurik Ragnarsson not only ambushed a peaceful envoy but sought to kill me with a spell to the back, slinking in the shadows like a coward rather than facing me bravely. Godric confronted him before Ragnarsson could accomplish the deed. I would swear on my honour that Godric did not intend to kill and his remorse was great. But I will not deny that I don't regret Ragnarsson's fate. He was nothing more than a coward, wretch and a murderer.'

Only Thorvald's intervention retrained Killer-Bjorn before his kinsman could dismiss all the rational caution and leap at Alain. Melusine looked unconcerned with the Lord of Avalon's rally, whilst Bellême continued to give nothing away. The remaining Councillors of the Wizengamot contented themselves with watching the grim scene unfold, curious to see who would succeed in wrestling the upper hand from their rival's grasp.

'The law does state that an apprentice can use a wand against a wizard in times of peril. I have dined with Godric of Avalon before and can vouch for his unswerving loyalty to his master,' Melusine surprisingly acknowledged, causing Alain to frown with distrust, 'but there can be no claims of defence when the men of Avalon were the ambushers. Rurik Ragnarsson may have sought Lord Alain's death, but wouldn't any wizard seek the death of a man who had attacked him unprovoked. What is unnatural is how this boy's mind has been misshapen into believing that it is necessary for deadly force to be used on anyone who challenges his uncle. So blackened is his heart that he felt nothing for the wizard whose life he so tragically cut short.'

Melusine's voice had grown louder with each word, enrapturing the Wizengamot.

'Godric of Avalon has innocent blood on his hands and no remorse in his heart. It cannot be doubted that he has the makings of a dark wizard, who with the power of Avalon to support him could blight our world with evil. The gravest crimes merit the severest of punishments,' Melusine pointed an accusing finger at Godric, 'let the Watchers of the Wizengamot seize him and take him from the field where, as the old laws dictate, he should be executed for the blood he has spilt.'

There was uproar as every wizard there began to shout their opinion. Longbottom and Ranulph Black, rightly seeing the allegations against Godric as an indirect attack on the Lord of Avalon's influence, roared their support. Their shouts were met by Viviana, who had surged to her feet to honour her alliance with Alain and argue in support of the young wizard. So heated was this disagreement that within moments it almost came to blows when Ranulph Black unwisely dismissed Viviana's judgments as unimportant solely because she was born a woman. He twisted the blade further by lamenting about bygone days when a woman's involvement in politics was dissuaded or relegated too advice given in their husband's bed.

The Breton became enraged but had the wisdom to hold back both her former apprentices from retaliating. Nevertheless, her glare promised that the insult would not be easily forgotten and she harangued Ranulph Black so fiercely that the wizard began to regret his heated words. To the disdain of his supporters, the Lord of the Hallow-Hills merely cowered silently in his seat, content to remain unnoticed so that his alleged role in these matters would be swiftly forgotten in the tempest which revolved around Godric's trial. Godric didn't think he had fully recognised quite how factional Britain was until this moment. All the greatest mages of Britain stood before him, sniping at each other and bitterly voicing old hurts.

Whilst arguments raged across the sacred summit, the purple-clad Watchers had initially been hesitant to act. Privileged as her status as the last of Merlin's bloodline undoubtedly was, Melusine was not a member of the Wizengamot and so did not wield the authority needed to dispense justice. But her former apprentice did.

'Seize him,' he reiterated from his seat, waving his hand to signal that the Watchers should obey Melusine's command. There were few men who didn't fear to question the will of Sir Robert of Bellême. Several Watchers, led by the dour captain Godric had encountered their first day on Ynys Mon, leapt into action and advanced towards the Lord of Avalon's feebly stirring banner.

However, they came to an abrupt halt when Troll-bane stepped forward to bar their way. The castellan of Avalon bore neither sword nor spear but held aloft the great shield emblazoned with Alain's device. He faced them wordlessly, an undaunted challenge in his fierce gaze which told them that he would pummel any wizard who dared take the young wizard. Wands were drawn, but Hugh's resolve remained steadfast in its determination to keep Godric from the clutches of Alain's enemies. The Watchers made no attempt to force the castellans hand and even their captain, a wizard who had lived through war before, shifted nervously as the stalemate continued. Violence was prohibited and besides, a man didn't bear a name like Troll-bane without acquiring a reputation which could make men quiver in fear, and there were few wizards who would willingly face the Lord of Avalon's notorious sworn man in a fight.

Alain also made to block their path, but he moved too quickly for his crippled leg to handle. The stiffness of the limb and the sudden twinge of agony from the old wound caused the Lord of Avalon to stumble and threatened to send him sprawling into the dust. Fortunately, he managed to regain his balance, but the blunder failed to go unnoticed by the wolves around him and who now scented a weakness. Snorts of amusement greeted his mishap from those who took it as a weakness, whilst his supporters grimaced. As the Lord of Avalon, it was demanded that Alain needed to be a pillar of strength to his allies. Yet, it was a common consensus that even with the aid of magic, cripples could not be relied upon in times of dire need. Crippled men were dependent on the will and charity of others and could not be expected to lead men and steer their followers through hardship and peril.

However, Alain's momentary lapse in agility seemed to unintentionally lance the putrid argumentative atmosphere which had disrupted between the Wizengamot. Once again, the crowds gaze observed the confrontation between the men of Avalon and the Watchers.

'Lord Alain,' Melusine called, smiling maliciously at Alain's stumble, 'leash your tame mutt. This is no place for a Muggle to be. Hasn't he sullied these sacred grounds enough by simply being here, even without threatening violence?' A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd, who saw that Alain's retinue were intent on defending him. Only Salazar remained unaffected, seemingly unflustered with the goings-on about him.

'This is madness…' Alain said again.

'Call off your men, Lord Alain,' Gofanon ordered wearily, before signalling for the Watchers to step away. The Captain and his men obeyed instantly, although they kept a wary eye on Hugh. Gilbert, Gervais and Isolde were visibly reluctant, but they knew that Gofanon held Alain's trust and so contented themselves with his judgement. The aged wizard allowed frayed tempers to subside before beckoning Godric forward, 'stand before us, Godric of Avalon.'

Godric obeyed the command, battling with his own fears and not quite managing to keep his discomfort from showing.

'Lord Gofanon,' Alain said beseechingly, but his old friend merely raised a bejewelled hand to silence any protest. However, Melusine ignored the warning and interrupted the ancient wizard. She had heard the plea in Alain's voice and the wolf in her could not resist twisting the knife of his discomfort deeper.

'How does it feel, Lord of Avalon?' she called scornfully, 'to be so helpless when one of your apprentices flounders in a sea of your past mistakes? If you had sought peace instead of war, then you would not have to pay such a penalty and your apprentice would not be facing death.'

'And what of my own man?' Alain replied fiercely, 'does his killing go unanswered? Why would I seek justice for the death of a dependent if it was I who was at fault?'

'Your arrogance startles me,' Melusine said, hurriedly silencing Alain's call for logical sense before it could turn the crowd's favour, 'what is one man, Lord of Avalon, to the many you have killed. Are the men of your household so superior to all others?'

'The Harrying was a war!'

'War? How many times have you used war to excuse your barbarity? Was it the innocent women and children you butchered who were at fault for the Harrying?'

A great number of the wizards from the English and Seidr stirred at the mention of this, an old grudge that refused to die. The north had yet to recover from the brutal campaign that left it a barren wasteland and many of those who had rebelled against the Old King still found it hard to forgive the Norman wizards who had brought such slaughter to their people.

'Only if they were implicit in the actions of their menfolk,' Alain growled, his clenched fists paling, 'the Harrying began when five hundred of the Old King's knights were killed by rebels, slaughtered like animals. We had no choice but to fight. The attack on _me_ this spring was of a darker nature entirely. We were a peaceful delegation, sent in good faith, only for a sacred tradition to be discarded in favour of revenge.'

'Wasn't this a peaceful delegation sent by a King who was already marching to the drums of war?' Melusine drawled, 'This is a King who treats war as a game and whose ambitions are limitlessness. Our honoured Sir Robert is a great magnate of the realm. He holds little faith with this Muggle who sits upon the throne of England. He warns our world to be weary of Rufus of England, for he assures me that this King's ambitions will one day be focused on us.'

'Has Lord Bellême lost his tongue?' interrupted Alain, glaring harshly at Bellême, who returned it impassively, 'or daren't he use his own tongue to voice such treason against the King he has sworn loyalty too.'

'Sir Robert is a proud wizard,' Melusine said derisively, 'the same cannot be said for you. You, Alain of Avalon, are nothing but a lapdog to a Muggle fool, quick to yap at Rufus's knees and content to do his bidding like a tame and toothless hound. Where is your pride, _Lord of Avalon_?'

'Hah,' Alain sneered darkly, finally giving vent to some of his pent up frustrations, 'says the murderer of her own father. What pride led you to your own exile?'

'Says the last descendant of Merlin and Nimue of Avalon,' Melusine snapped back and her violet eyes flashed, 'I know my heritage, Lord Alain and my blood is purer than any who now gather here. Yet, what is mine by right of birth is denied to me by the whims of a low-born warmonger, who has allowed lesser beings to sully a sacred place whose hallowed grounds have been enthused with magic since recorded memory.'

'The Trials of Avalon are an arduous task, long and perilous in nature,' said Alain proudly, 'they pay no heed to bloodlines.'

'Then tell us how you acquired such a title?' Melusine pressed on ruthlessly, 'tell us why we should entrust such an honoured seat to a man who refuses to repent for the innocent blood on his hands'.

'Avalon's secrets are sacred. I have sworn an oath not to reveal them.'

'Even if they'd save the life of your nephew?' Melusine challenged him, her derision clear for all to see, 'you will still hoard secrets, even when they could save the life of your nephew?'

'The only purpose revealing such secrets would serve is to satisfy your own ambitions…'

'SILENCE,' roared Gofanon impatiently from his high dais, 'your childish bickering has become tiresome. You do a disservice to both your reputations by not ceasing these petty arguments. The Wizengamot was called to deliberate on an unlawful killing, not to hear the two of you squabble over a trivial title…'

Melusine glanced at the Welsh wizard, before scowling at Alain.

'You are fortunate to have your patron here,' Melusine said scornfully, before boldly turning her spiteful tongue on Gofanon, 'how impartial are you, Wise-One? You claim to stand as a voice of reason for all wizards. Yet, didn't you let revenge sway your heart after your eldest son was killed bu the wizards of Godwinson the Usurper.'

'Lady Melusine…' Gofanon began stonily, but his reply was cut abruptly short as Melusine pressed on mercilessly, giving him no chance to respond.

'Where was your compassion when you stood aside as the fruit of a generation of pure-blood wizards were broken and ousted from their homelands by the bastard Duke and his dog of Avalon? Men, women and children massacred or displaced by the man you call a friend!'

'Your tongue is a knife and your words are a vile poison,' the aged wizard growled harshly, 'the Harrying was a war. If we condemned every wizard who has spilt the blood of another in times of war then there would be few wizards left in Britain. It would be wise to remember, Lady that you have been granted the honour of addressing the Wizengamot and as such, should respect those wizards who sit upon it. I am a descendant of Taliesin Wise-Brow, Pupil of Merlin…'

'I am the daughter of Pressyne, Lady of Avalon,' cried Melusine haughtily, 'and stand here as the last surviving descendant of Merlin and Nimue the Last. No one can doubt the purity of your bloodline, Gofanon, only the efficiency of your leadership.'

A great gasp shattered the air. Gofanon was a hero of Clontarf and a figure whose hand had wisely helped guide Britain through times of hurt and prosperity. His leadership had never been so openly questioned and the onlookers watched entranced, curious to see how the Welshman would respond to such barbed criticism. Surprisingly, his mind remained uncorrupted by anger. Instead, he was wracked by a sudden coughing fit which told those who knew him best how much it had cost him. Helga was seething at her great-grandfather being insulted and his wisdom being cast into doubt. She glared fiercely at Melusine, silently promising retribution. Godric knew that Helga meant it, even if such a look seemed strange in the eyes of one so young.

'My leadership of the Wizengamot,' Gofanon growled after the fit had finally subsided, 'is not the issue here…'

'Hah,' Melusine laughed before smiling wolfishly as if she had caught the scent of wounded prey, 'I've heard rumours that say otherwise…'

'Lady Melusine,' a loud shout suddenly interrupted her. Everyone looked to Bellême, who had stood again to confront his former master and voice his distaste for her current vitriol, 'this is improper. We have gathered here to champion the cause of the Ragnarssons and seek compensation for their fallen kin. Save old hurts for another time.'

Melusine's astonishment was mirrored by the majority of those who watched and her smile finally slipped for the briefest second, such was her shock that Bellême would dare to chastise her so openly. Then her eyes narrowed dangerously, the only visible sign of the struggle to rein in her rising fury.

' _Maybe she shouldn't be so assured of Bellême's loyalty_ ,' Godric thought darkly, whilst Melusine and Bellême engaged in a silent contest of wills.

'You speak true, Sir Robert,' she acknowledged stiffly, turning her back on her former apprentice and facing the Wizengamot with a swiftly returning grace, 'I digress from the cause at hand. This man has a violent past that has cost many lives. His reputation alone should be enough to condemn him. Let him pay weregild for an unprovoked attack. Yet, his apprentice, this boy who stands before me, must answer for his crimes. The law wills it; put him to death.'

'This is madness,' Alain reiterated, his frustration evident. By speaking first, Melusine and her protégé had manipulated the support of the crowd to serve their own purpose, exploiting the long lingering resentment and jealousies that many wizards held for Alain. No matter what Alain said now, a great amount of the assembled wizards would think he was lying. Besides, it mattered little whether the battle was fought in the rugged north or the brooding highlands, for Rurik Ragnarsson had still been slain by Godric's hand.

'Councillors of the Wizengamot,' a cry rose from the crowd and Amalric Black stepped out from the crowd, a practised smile dazzling those around him, 'may I speak?'

Gofanon frowned before generously gesturing for Black to address the Wizengamot. The crowd murmured, especially some of the witches who stood on the hills summit and admired Black's handsome and noble disposition. Perched in the seat behind him, Black's father scowled darkly at the younger man's impertinence,

'These are grave tidings indeed and it is clear that a settlement must be reached, and the responsible party should pay compensation for the injuries done to the other,' Black paused briefly to glance at Godric, who was suddenly very aware that the regal wizard had shrewdly recognised him as the man who had aided Rowena in humiliating his friend the previous night. Ramon Bigot certainly did, for the stocky wizard now stood red-faced and breathing like a bullock whilst he stared furiously at his would-be rival,

'This Godric of Avalon,' Black continued coolly, 'is young and reckless. He is also untested, so it is plausible to assume that he did not intend his intervention to prove fatal. But kill him he did and his misdeeds are great. The law must also be upheld. To my inexperienced eyes, death would be a harsh penalty, for much of the fault lay with others. If he is executed, then his friends and loved ones will seek retribution and such a feud could throw Britain into chaos.'

Alain and Salazar frowned at their unexpected ally, whilst Godric was stunned by Black's call for mercy. However, in their surprise, they forgot that the Black's had a history of playing all sides and a reputation for self-interest.

'I'd suggest exile,' Black shrugged as if Godric's life was of no concern to him, 'or perhaps slavery would suffice?'

'No,' Alain cried, unable to mask his horror. He winced at the thought of his nephew being shackled in an iron collar and cast into the clutches of slavers. Godric shivered as he remembered the miserably broken men and creatures who lined the lake shore, waiting for their freedom to be sold for the highest price and for death to end their suffering. Whilst he'd take exile over slavery, the prospect of such a fate would still be a dangerous one, for, like Alain's childhood friend Hugh Bunel, he would be hounded by hired wands sent by his uncle's rivals to hunt him down.

Black shrugged disinterestedly and looked at Gofanon,

'Then death it must be,' said Black, 'if outlawry or slavery are to be so readily dismissed, then the punishment should be as the Lady Melusine demands. It is to your counsel, Wise-one, that we must all bow.' The heir to the Blacks bowed his head in respect, before slinking back to stand with the wizards who clustered around his father's seat.

Godric looked around him, trying to gauge how desperate the situation was by the expressions of his friends. However, their reactions only served to fuel his fear. Helga looked uncharacteristically sombre and he could no longer see Rowena or her father amongst the Scottish contingent. He felt a little relief at this, for he realised that he did not want Rowena to witness his impending downfall. Salazar's brow remained furrowed. He had barely spoken since Godric had been accused, retreating into the confines of his mind. Long forgotten, Edwin had shrunk back to his friends, looking shamefaced and bemused by the trouble he had unwittingly brought down upon Godric.

Gofanon looked wearier than they had ever seen him, his great age apparent by the lines etched into his tanned skin, for the pain it cost him to now judge the nephew of a valued friend lay heavily on his heart. He had seen potential in Godric, who radiated the spirit of the old days when heroes walked amongst men and he was bitterly reluctant to sacrifice him to the ambitions of Alain's rivals. But what other choice did he have, for only death or exile would satisfy a faction who had amassed enough power to cast the wizarding world into aged wizard could barely muster the courage to glance at Helga, who had befriended the young man during the course of the festivities. Helga had promised her great-grandfather that she sensed greatness in the apprentices of Avalon, but he had little choice and the old laws had to be upheld. As Gofanon stood upon the high dais, he hoped that the Lord of Avalon could find forgiveness in his heart. Seeing the wearied expression on his old friend's face, Alain paled and his hand fell to his belt, seeking comfort for the sword which would have usually hung there.

'It would be a great shame,' he sighed gravely, 'to see one so young perish. But his innocence cannot be determined by our laws. He raised his wand against a wizard and that is a grave crime. The old laws give me little choice but…'

'Lord Gofanon,' a sudden cry pierced the air, interrupting the aged wizard's speech as Salazar stepped out from his place amongst the men of Avalon. A strong sea breeze stirred the banners about him as if the power of his voice alone breathed new life into them, 'will the Wizengamot grant me the right to speak?'

'Who is this boy?' Longbottom called, frowning in stark disapproval.

'My name is Salazar Slytherin,' cried Salazar, refusing to baulk as he faced the displeasure of the congregation, 'and I am apprenticed to the Lord of Avalon…'

'Silence,' Ranulph Black snarled, 'this is a council for lords, not mere apprentices. You are not permitted to speak before the Wizengamot.'

'Edwin the Firebrand was allowed,' Salazar countered courteously, 'yet, he has not received the wand of a spell-master. Why should I be denied the honour he was given?'

Many were stunned by his boldness, for Salazar's youthfulness was obvious as he stood before the aged councillors. Alain was amongst them, frowning whilst he stared in shock at his apprentice's sudden outburst. However, many wizards seemed impressed by it. It took great courage to face the Wizengamot and only the most acclaimed orators could be said to look forward to the challenge. The onlookers looked to Gofanon, who slowly nodded, sensing hope. Melusine's lips had thinned and her fierce gaze burned into Salazar's back.

'The Slytherin family are descended from an ancient line of wizards. Their blood may be foreign to our shores, but it is as old as many here. Speak, Salazar Slytherin, I grant you audience. Use this time wisely.'

Nodding his thanks, Salazar sidled up to Godric and the two friends shared a brief look. All who stood on that hilltop knew that this was a forlorn cause. The tide could not be turned and Godric's fate would have no heroic ending. Only the direst of situations called for exile as the preferred route. Most expected Godric to be taken away and executed, or passed into the Ragnarsson's hands for them to exact their own torturous revenge. But if the young wizard trusted anyone to save his life, then it was Salazar, who possessed the most polished silver-tongue of all the men Godric knew as well as the clever mind to guide it.

Salazar let out a shuddering breath, exhaling the last shreds of nerves which still dwelled in his heart. Then he addressed the most powerful wizards in Britain with the undaunted ease and confidence that he often used when speaking to his friends, only with far fewer curses or barbed jests.

'Honoured wizards of Britain,' Salazar began courteously, 'the old laws to which we abide are sacred, a tradition which has lasted for over a millennia. We must respect them, for these laws declare that an apprentice is forbidden from using a wand against a fully-fledged wizard with intent to harm. If they do so, they face the gravest punishments known to our kind. By the will of these laws, my friend Godric of Avalon should be punished harshly, perhaps even with death as was the law in the era of the Ancients…'

' _I'll kill him_ ,' Godric found himself thinking as a murmur of agreement spread through the crowd, ' _if I die today then I swear I'll return to haunt him until he is driven mad.'_

'But we do not live in those glorious days when life was simple and the peoples of Britain were one and the same. Their tribes hailed from the same shores, they worshipped the same gods and obeyed the same codes of honour and magical law. It was a golden age, but one which long ago passed away. Now, we live in a new age, an age that has changed so much in the last decades alone that it does not even resemble the days of Merlin. Never before have so many wizards of different blood laid claim on these islands. Britain stands divided, a melting pot for many cultures. Wizards of Norman, Welsh, Scottish, English, Seidr and Irish blood all claim Britain as their own. We worship different gods and live by different codes…'

For the first time that long day, Godric noticed that a complete silence had descended over the Wizengamot, a stillness only disturbed by the buzz of insects in the long grass or the squawking of distant thieving gulls. Godric was bemused to see the congregation enraptured by the passion which radiated from Salazar's speech.

'This is sacrilege,' someone shouted from the crowd,

'You misjudge me,' Salazar replied, 'I agree that the old laws should be upheld, but only as a guideline to which we should all aspire. Wizards can no longer be judged by the old laws alone, but the laws which govern their people.'

'You speak well, Salazar Slytherin,' said Bellême grudgingly, 'but we're not here to debate the validity of ancient laws. Speak plainly, or stand down.'

'You are right, Lord,' Salazar replied and it must have been a bitter thing for the young wizard to say, 'I am here to speak of Godric of Avalon. He has been accused of an unlawful killing and the kin of the man he killed demand his death. But he should be sentenced by the appropriate laws, not on the whims of his master's rivals. Yet, Godric has barely been allowed to speak, not even afforded the chance to defend himself. Every wizard has the right to be judged fairly, to prove their innocence in court.'

'What do you know of it?' an unknown voice shouted from the crowd,

'I know that Godric shares Lord Alain's Norman blood and that through his father's English ancestry, the blood of bygone heroes runs through his veins. He should be judged by the laws of both…'

'That still means death,' Melusine sneered scornfully,

'By wizarding law it does,' Salazar agreed, 'but there are other influences which must be accounted for. Godric was born to Muggles, and as such, his sentencing must also adhere to the King's law which governs the Muggle realm.'

'What purpose do the laws of Mudbloods have in a wizarding court?' Melusine jeered, joining her voice to the shouts of anger and protest which followed, especially from the wizards who hated Muggles. These protests belonged to wizards such as Muggle-Bane, who saw Muggle's as inferior beings and no better than beasts. Salazar merely smiled as he preferred to confront this opposition.

'Even in the days of Merlin wizards both respected and abided by the law of the kings who governed the land. If a wizard was descended from non-magical blood, they had a right to be judged by such laws. Even wizards such as the Lord of Avalon and Sir Robert of Bellême are vassals to the King of England and Malcolm of Scotland has the loyalty of the Lord of the Hallow Hills. Godric has the right to be judged by Muggle law, even in the courts of wizards. His blood demands it. You should know this, Lady Melusine. Merlin is your illustrious ancestor after all, as you are so fond of telling us.'

'It's extraordinary,' Melusine scoffed, ignoring the chuckles which Salazar's jest had provoked, 'the extent you will go to wallow in the filth of Muggles to save your friend from his fate…'

'How much filth have you wallowed in, Lady Melusine, during your exile from Britain?'

'What does it matter?' Melusine hissed, her eyes narrowing. She knew full well that Salazar was alluding to the illicit tales of her many lovers amongst the great houses of Muggle Christendom and her kinship ties with them.

'You profess to loathe Muggles and see them as inferior to wizards,' Salazar pressed on fearlessly, 'yet, you may not have survived your exile without them. If you weren't so fair of face and your tongue was less charming, then maybe they would have been less willing to grant you a place at their hearths.'

All those who had gathered for the Wizengamot saw how Salazar's words seemed to burst Melusine's pride, causing the witch to bristle and her wolfish smile to finally falter. It was Oswin Longbottom who intervened, tired of the traded insults even if he was reluctantly impressed by Salazar's boldness.

'The King's law is harsh, especially those that govern the English,' Longbottom grunted, stroking his beard thoughtfully, 'it is not that long since the Old King executed an English earl for a grave crime, even though he only exiled his Norman peers. Wouldn't the outcome be the same?'

'Most laws are harsh, Lord, whether wizard or Muggle. I wish to speak of a particular law, one founded by Muggle's to avoid situations where the truth is impossible to decipher. We have heard conflicting tales and it is clear that the truth cannot be determined by words alone. As we have seen, this will only descend into chaos, tainting the truth with prejudice, personal gain and old hurts. We must look to this Muggle law to help guide us to the truth,' he paused and bowed his head to each Councillor, 'if the Wizengamot allows it?'

'I find myself ignorant of this law you speak of,' Gofanon admitted curiously, 'please elaborate?' The Welshman could recall by memory hundreds of laws which had governed Britain for many centuries. But when it came to the intricacies of Muggle law, he was admittedly ignorant of the courts which governed the Muggle realms.

'I apologise, Lord Gofanon,' Salazar replied, 'for I intended no insult. Feel no shame, as this law has rarely been exercised in a magical court, and never in living memory. The last time was in the days of old, when Lugaid Ui Neill of Ireland stood accused of an unlawful killing. I do not call for these chargers to be ignored. Merely that Godric is given the right to prove his innocence before the full might of magical Britain so that the truth cannot be denied. Councillors of the Wizengamot, I ask that Godric of Avalon should face a trial by battle!'

The lingering silence gave way to an immediate clamour as a flurry of hushed whispers broke out amongst the onlookers, laced with excitement and anticipation. A trial by battle was an enticing prospect; why execute a young wizard, when his death could provide the violent sport that the Lughnasadh festivities often lacked.

'What is this mockery?' Melusine barked suddenly, scenting an escape, 'we cannot allow Muggle customs to pollute our own traditions. It is beneath us!'

'Lady Melusine, you said yourself that Rurik Ragnarsson was a prince amongst his people,' Viviana interjected shrewdly, 'yet, there are no recognised princes amongst the wizards of Britain. Besides, I have heard of this trial by battle. It is not so uncommon in other regions of Christendom. However, I wonder if you Salazar Slytherin truly understand the dangers of it. A trial by battle, fought between two wizards, can only end when one of the combatants is dead. Wasn't Lugaid Ui Neill killed?'

That was true. Godric had heard of Lugaid Ui Neill, for he was one of the few Muggleborn wizards remembered in song. It told of the tragic love between a wizard's apprentice and his master's young wife. Lugaid had ventured out on many adventures to prove his love, facing dangers from fiery dragons and scaly sea monsters to mystical warlocks. On his return to his master's hearth, he was denied the wand of a spell-master, for his master believed Lugaid had failed to gain wisdom. An argument ensued, which culminated in the death of the master and Lugaid taking the wife for his own. But he knew no peace, for his master's kin sought retribution. With the ancient laws demanding his death, he had no option other than facing a trial by combat. He was confident, having survived many exploits, but this proved his undoing, for Lugaid was found lacking and he was brutally killed. Wracked with guilt and greatly aggrieved by Lugaid's death, the wife fled into the mists Ireland's northern mountains, where she was pursued to her untimely death by vengeful kinsmen.

'Godric may also die,' Salazar admitted nonchalantly, 'but at least he will be given the chance to face his accuser fairly.'

Salazar glanced at Godric, who had grimaced at the tale of Lugaid which did not paint a glorious image of an apprentice's chances in a duel against a fully-fledged wizard. Gofanon still sat slumped in his seat, undecided whether to pay any heed to Salazar's appeal, whilst Alain was ashen faced with fury at Salazar's audacity to toss Godric into such a perilous ordeal as a trial by battle and appeared to regret not intervening before Salazar could capture the crowd's enthusiasm. Salazar caught Godric's eye and winked encouragingly. When Godric frowned dumbly in return, his friend rolled his eyes in exasperation and hurriedly nudged him in the ribs.

At Salazar's urgent prompting, it suddenly dawned on Godric what he needed to do, finally recognising Salazar's appeal for what it was. Taking heed of the silent signal and before a concerned Alain could voice any objections, Godric spoke in a loud clear voice,

'I will fight,' he cried aloud, breathing a silent prayer to Merlin so that his voice would not quiver, 'I ask for the Wizengamot's consent to be granted the chance to face my accuser in a trial by battle.'

'Godric…' Alain tried to intervene, dismayed by the reckless and ill-conceived actions of his apprentices. Godric ignored his uncle's pleas. Instead, he met Melusine's glare squarely and said in a voice that belied his fear and misgivings.

'I swear on my magic,' he cried aloud for all the onlookers to hear, 'that what they say is a lie. By your will, let me fight to prove my innocence and defend the honour of Avalon.'

Melusine stepped forward and appeared to be about to denounce the proposal, but she was checked by her former apprentice. Once again she gave Bellême a thunderously sharp look, but the magnate ignored her ire. A smile flickered at Bellême's lips as stared at Godric.

'The boy's proposal has merit,' he finally said, to the shock of his supporters. His fingers danced deftly upon one knee as he considered the situation, before turning his eyes to Gofanon, 'if he wants to fight, then let it be so. Let him face a champion chosen by those who accuse him and let the truth be decided with wand and sword.'

A great cheer erupted across the summit as the crowd voiced their support. The stirring wind rustled the banners above their heads as Godric saw Melusine beckon her Icelandic lover and his wild kinsman to her, where they stood speaking in hushed whispers. Bellême took no part in the discussion, for he was content to remain seated where he stared piercingly at his rival's two apprentices. Godric's heart pounded in his chest. He had interpreted the trial by battle as a lifeline, as Salazar had intended; a chance to put his fate in his own hands. He refused to look at Alain, for he could feel his uncle's glare against his back. The Lord of Avalon looked as if he was ready to step forward and throttle his apprentices.

'Do you accept this challenge?' Gofanon spoke up stonily, his voice drowning out the shouts from the fickle throng about them. Melusine gracefully stepped away from her companions and flourished the crowd with a winning smile,

'We accept this trial by battle,' she said, prompting another chorus of jubilation from the excited crowd.

'Who will stand against him?'

Godric's heart paused in its thunderous beat. He surveyed his uncle's enemies anxiously, for anyone of them could feel confident enough to face a mere apprentice in combat. A sudden shift caught his eye and he saw Bellême half rise from his seat. Dread descended, for Godric could have no hope of defeating a wizard with Bellême's reputation. It was widely known that Sir Robert of Bellême was the most dreaded fae-knight in Britain and his skill in arms as a dual-wielder was as infamous as his sadism. Years of hate rankled between them, for the humiliation Godric had dealt the older wizard during a feat of accidental magic had refused to die and Bellême yearned for revenge to heal his battered pride. It was clear that the magnate expected to be called upon to champion the Ragnarssons cause.

'I will fight him,' cried Killer-Bjorn, stepping into the circle and glaring at Godric, 'my staff and sword says you lie.'

Anticipation rippled through the crowd. The Icelander's wild and formidable reputation was well known and the opportunity to see such a dueller do battle was a tantalising prospect. Salazar stirred beside Godric, who thought he heard his friend curse beneath his breath. Unnoticed by the crowd, Bellême and Melusine were engaged in a silent power play of bitter glares.

Gofanon rose to his feet. For a brief moment, he scrutinised those below him and his unwillingness to authorise this trial by battle was clear on his ravaged face. Then he sighed,

'So be it,' he finally said gravely, 'for a hundred years, this hallowed ground has been spared from bloodshed. This will soon be no more. In two days, Godric of Avalon and Killer-Bjorn the Icelander will meet in a trial by battle. To the victor will go the truth of their innocence, whilst to the loser will be given a shallow grave. Weregild will be paid to the victor as compensation for the deaths of kinsmen and dependents. I advise you both to seek rest and good counsel. You will need it for the trial to come…'


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Trial by Battle

**Trial by Battle**

Alain spent the rest of the night alone, consumed with rage. He was furious at his apprentices, cursing Salazar's rash impertinence and Godric's recklessness for accepting the challenge. Now, his nephew had sworn to fight in a duel where they could only be one victor. The loser faced an early grave and Killer-Bjorn had spent half a lifetime distributing untimely deaths. More anger was directed at Melusine and Bellême, whose manipulations had led to this end and his loathing for them now knew no limits. However, Alain reserved most of his fury for himself. He had swiftly lost all advantage over his rivals on the Wizengamot, outmanoeuvred by his vile rivals. Alain had approached the Wizengamot to confidently and now all his plans were undone. It was Godric who would now pay the price for his master's hubris.

The Lord of Avalon was also frustrated because his fury warred with admiration. His apprentices had publically conducted themselves well during the great assembly. Salazar had held his own against seasoned politicians, settling on a course of action which had slipped through the minds of wiser wizards and gave Godric a slither of a chance to escape execution. Godric had impressed him too, for Alain couldn't help but marvel at Godric's courage, especially when he had accepted the trial by battle, despite the dangers it provided. He feared for his nephew, for Killer-Bjorn's murderous prowess was as notorious as his byname suggested. Yet, Godric had appeared undaunted by the challenge. Godric and Salazar were the pride of Avalon and in the aftermath of the Wizengamot, all of magical Britain talked of them with awe and respect.

However, it didn't mask Alain's failures. He had failed to stop Bellême being elected; failed to acquire justice for Hadrian and knew he had failed in his duty to protect Godric. Now, the fate of the Lord of Avalon's reputation and honour depended on Godric's prowess with a wand and sword.

Godric rose early the next day for his morning drills with Hugh. He felt strangely disconnected from his surroundings and had barely heard the advice every member of Alain's retinue had sought to offer him. It hadn't taken long for the rest of the retinue to hear about the trial, for news of it had spread quickly and talk of it was on everyone's lips. Hugh drilled them hard, but surprisingly cut the practice short. Avalon's castellan was in a foul mood and he stalked away as his comrades stretched sore muscles, intent on discovering more about Killer-Bjorn.

The rest of Alain's retinue quickly dispersed, leaving Godric to continue sparring with his two friends. Hamon helped him practice with the sword and against Salazar he duelled with magic, hoping to raise Godric's flailing spirits. They recognised the nervousness and dread which clouded Godric's mind and his concentration eventually faded to such an extent that Salazar was able to land several hexes which slipped past Godric's usually impregnable guard. Recognising that his friend's heart wasn't truly in it, Salazar had called a halt to their duel and ordered Godric to spar with Hamon. Watching on from the periphery of the makeshift tiltyard as Godric engaged Hamon without the enthusiasm that he usually brought to sparring matches, Salazar couldn't help but silently question whether he had made a terrible mistake in requesting a trial by battle.

Engrossed in a wave of rising doubt, he didn't notice Helga walking towards them through the line of trees,

'Merlin aid us,' Salazar growled irritably when he finally caught sight of her. The young witch frustrated him to no end, for she didn't appear to hold any respect for social status, as well as taking umbrage with the Welsh girl's evident delight at irking him.

Surprisingly, Helga was accompanied by another girl and Salazar soon recognised her as the raven-haired daughter of Scatter-Brain, Rowena, whose beauty had caught the attention of many wizards at the Wizengamot. Yet, she barely spared the handsome young wizard a glance as she walked by. Out striding her younger companion and content to leave Helga in Salazar's company as she approached the sparring Godric and Hamon. The two squires paused, turning to face Rowena in surprise, but the witch only had eyes for Godric.

'So,' she said, smiling slyly, 'my humble saviour is apprenticed to the Lord of Avalon. I should have realised that you were noble-born, but you never told me you were so well connected?'

Godric shrugged, his face flushing self-consciously as his sword hung limp by his side.

'It wasn't important,' he mumbled. Rowena nodded before her smile wavered,

'I'm sorry for my father's part in it,' she murmured meaningfully, 'he is…he can be…'

She fell silent, the ire she had displayed at her father's careless behaviour having long ago turned to disappointment.

'It doesn't matter…'

'It does,' she suddenly snapped, instantly reddening when she saw Godric's surprise at her outburst, 'it does matter. Did my father truly offer me as payment for your master's help?'

'Not as payment,' Godric told her, 'but he did talk of betrothal. Lord Alain turned him down…'

He slipped into silence as he caught a glimmer of hurt flash across Rowena's face. For a moment, he was sure she was about to ask him if he was adverse to the match until her mind wrestled her tongue away from her heart's control and she thought better of it. Godric was glad she did, for he would have had no response to such a question.

'Are you frightened?' Rowena asked instead, gazing curiously into his eyes as she sought something he could not quite place,

Godric was tempted to lie in order to ease Rowena's own fears. However, he soon discovered that it wasn't in him to lie to her.

'Yes,' he admitted. Rowena held his gaze for a heartbeat, biting her lower lip tentatively,

'So am I,' she said softly,

Godric stared at her curiously, but Rowena looked away, unable to meet his eye. Ignored from the moment Rowena had arrived, Hamon joined Salazar and Helga, who had been bickering incessantly as they observed Godric and Rowena. The two squires of Avalon were openly gaping in disbelief at the scene. They had never seen any young woman approach Godric so boldly, or witnessed Godric so eagerly respond to a woman's attention. In all honesty, Salazar and Hamon didn't think that Godric had any interests outside swords, knighthood and well-bred horses. As they watched a concerned Godric murmur something which they could not hear and saw Rowena react with a laugh, suddenly emerging from her troubled mood, they were almost rendered speechless.

Miraculously, Godric was now smiling as he led Rowena over and introduced the maiden to his smirking friends. Rowena smiled as she greeted Hamon politely, although she was unable to mask her surprise when she learned he was a Muggle,

'Don't worry about it,' Hamon cheerfully waved off her embarrassment, 'Godric still idolises me.'

Rowena laughed aloud as Godric playfully shoved his friend before she turned to Salazar and complimented him on his performance during the Wizengamot. She especially praised him for how his intervention had prolonged Godric's life for at least a few more days,

'He'll always be a burden,' Salazar smiled slyly, 'but I don't want him dead.'

'No,' Rowena replied, casting a smile in Godric's direction, her cheeks reddening slightly, 'we wouldn't want that'. Godric was unaware of how much this made him grin stupidly. Salazar and Hamon watched on, exchanging sly grins and sniggering quietly. Helga just rolled her eyes at all their behaviour.

'I didn't know that you were friends?' Godric told Helga and Rowena, who smiled at each other,

'Why would you?' Helga said mockingly, 'we haven't talked about it. Besides, it's not something I readily admit…'

'My father and Gofanon are known to each other,' Rowena explained helpfully, ignoring the younger girl.

'They have shared a friendship for many years,' Helga added, 'I've known Rowena since we were children.'

'Long enough for us to become good friends,' Rowena finished and the two girls smiled at each other, 'despite Helga's obvious faults…'

'What are you doing here?' Godric inquired, looking at maidens curiously.

'We've come to help you,' Helga supplied, 'and it looks like you could use it?'

'How?' Hamon asked,

The two maidens didn't answer. Instead, Rowena bent down and began to lift her frayed skirts. She bundled them up above her knees, enabling her to move more freely and in doing so, exposed her lower legs. Even Salazar and Hamon, who had spent a lot of time in the company of disreputable women, were shocked by Rowena's brazen boldness. Godric's face was blazing as he averted his gaze, the memory of her dancing spiritually beside the great bonfires, flashing before his eyes. Rowena drew her wand,

'Come on,' she beckoned to Godric, striding out into their makeshift arena beside the lake. When Godric finally recognised her intentions, he almost spluttered.

'I'm not duelling you!' he protested,

'Why?' Rowena's eyes narrowed, 'scared?'

'No…I just…'

'Just what?'

'I can't duel a…'

'A woman?' she answered for him with a raised eyebrow.

'…Yes…' Godric admitted sheepishly,

'Oh, how very noble,' Helga called jeeringly. Godric scowled, ignoring Helga and was preparing to reply when suddenly from out of nowhere came a spell which struck Godric with enough force to send him sprawling in a heap, landing heavily and rendering him breathless. His body twitching from the effects of the spell, he glanced up to see Rowena smiling innocently back. She stood with a hand resting on her waist, tapping the wand against her hip impatiently whilst her eyes burned challengingly. His friend's amused laughter and Helga's jubilant cheering echoed around them.

'Do you have any more objections?' Rowena asked sweetly, 'or do I have to put you on your back again?' Godric stared back dumbly, the mischievous glint in her eyes causing a whirlwind of emotions to flare up inside him. Then suddenly he let out a booming laugh,

'Not a chance,' Godric grinned exuberantly. He leapt up and with a wave of his wand they were duelling.

Godric thrived on the adrenaline which surged through his veins when he fought and he could tell that Rowena, despite her noble and elegant demeanour, shared his enthusiasm for this thrill. She was neither the fastest nor the most powerful opponent he had ever faced. But she was probably the cleverest, for what she lacked in power she made up for with her brilliant inventiveness and masterful control over her magic, bringing a finesse to her spell work that rivalled the older Salazar.

As their duel began, Godric was assailed by a multitude of hexes, jinxes and charms. Rowena hurling spell after spell towards him with impressive speed. Godric shielded himself, blocking some with magic before using the lakeside shingle to intercept Rowena's colourful barrage. Then it was Godric's turn to retaliate, sending a powerful spell flaming towards the maiden. Rowena reacted quickly, conjuring a torrent of water from the lake to douse the burning fire before responding with equal vigour. She was a talented witch, but Godric's earlier stupor had quickly disappeared and soon his superior fitness and duelling expertise gained him the upper hand. After all, he had been trained by a paladin in Muggle fighting techniques and a wizard worthy of the title Lord of Avalon.

As they duelled, their friends watched on, observing them closely,

'They seem friendly,' Hamon commented, before smirking, 'Strange way to flirt,' Godric and Rowena were laughing, oblivious to the attention they were receiving from their companions as they playfully mocked each other's efforts in between pauses in their duel.

'It's Godric's way,' Salazar advised amusedly, rolling his eyes.

'Because you're the master?' Helga scoffed. Salazar's amusement disappeared behind a scowl,

'Remind me to give him a few pointers,' Hamon chuckled,

'His way seems to be working well enough,' Helga pointed out lightly as Rowena burst out laughing until she hastily threw herself to the side as one of Godric's spells narrowly missed her. She rolled back to her feet with a dazzling smile and with a wave of her wand, was engaging him again.

'Miraculously!' exclaimed Salazar, astounded.

After Rowena was knocked to the ground for the second time, the two duellists finally called a halt to the fight. Sweating heavily and covered in dust, Rowena was smiling with exhilaration, an expression which was mirrored on Godric's beaming face. They chattered excitedly, complimenting each other as they returned to their friends, pointedly ignoring the amused looks they were receiving.

Godric had little time to savour the scene, for Hamon was soon demanding that they spar with swords again and the young wizard was reluctantly dragged away. The ensuing sword practice came as a great surprise to Rowena, who watched on as Godric impressively beat away Hamon's attacks before retaliating with his own. Finally, she turned to speak with Salazar,

'Are you and Godric close?' Salazar smiled at her,

'Like brothers,' he admitted, 'all three of us are'.

'Are you confident that he can win?'

Salazar scrutinised Rowena closely. Outwardly she looked almost nonchalant, but in the depths of her eyes, Salazar saw the same fear and doubts which gnawed at his own soul. The tempest of emotions which radiated from Rowena surprised him, but he did not dismiss them. Godric always had the uncanny ability at seeing the best in people, and his honest attentions had clearly worked their way into Rowena's affections. How far they had delved was a mystery and Salazar had no intention of prying into further.

'Watch him now,' he advised her gently, 'despite being a Muggle, Hamon is no push over. Indeed, he has the strength of two prized horses and is the son of the most formidable man I know. Yet, he still cannot overpower Godric, who despite his age, is one of the best fighters I have seen. One day, Godric will be equal to a boatload of fighting men…'

'Truthfully?' Rowena asked disbelievingly.

'Trust me. Godric might not be the brightest wizard and he may appear like nothing more than a common villein,' Salazar paused, looking rueful, 'but he's probably the noblest wizard I know and in a fight, he's like a hero from a song. I know it better than most, but with either a sword or wand, when it comes to duelling, he's a devil.'

'He'll need to be,' Helga joined their conversation thoughtfully, her eyes trained on the two sparring young men, 'I've been watching his opponent. Overcoming this Killer-Bjorn would be a hard task for a wizarding master, let alone an apprentice.'

'You've seen him fight?' Salazar inquired,

'Yes,' Helga answered, turning to look at Salazar. Her tone lacked its usual mocking undertone, 'he's as his name suggests; a killer. He can fight with either a staff or blade, although he is no dual-wielder and he appeared to favour magic, so there may be some hope if Godric can take Killer-Bjorn's staff out of the fight. I didn't see much, for he cursed his sparring partner so badly that none of the Lord of Bellême retainers would face him. He spent the rest of his time sewing iron rings into that bush at his chin.'

'A clever trick,' summarised Rowena, again looking anxious, 'and a valuable defence. Those rings could turn aside a sword blow, maybe even a spell if they are inscribed with runes…'

'He knows some tricks then. No wonder the man was outlawed for killing men in his homeland. There are rumours that he has never been defeated; that his hot temper turns him into little more than a beast who thrives on bloodshed.'

'So he is a berserk then,' Rowena wondered, 'I thought they were just legends…'

'Most of the rumours which surround them are,' Salazar interrupted, 'yet, as men possessed with an all-consuming rage and violent disposition, they're as real as you and I. But if someone can survive the initial onset of rage and passion, then a clear head and confidence in your own skill will lead you to victory.'

'Does Godric always fight with a clear head?' Helga asked. As he was about to answer, Salazar faltered, suddenly remembering the untamable rage which had consumed Godric when Salazar had first called him a 'Mud-blood'. Salazar winced at the memory and the uneasiness which had clung to each maiden's heart soon blazed stronger at his hesitance.

'I cannot say,' Salazar finally responded firmly, sounding as if he was trying to persuade himself as well as his companions, 'but trust me when I when I say that I would not have pushed Godric, my brother in all but blood, along such a dangerous path if I didn't believe he'd survive. Godric will live and surprise all his doubters. He may even surprise himself…'

Rowena frowned at Salazar's words, wondering if there was more to Godric than she had initially assumed. As she turned back to watch him, she couldn't help the fond smile which flickered at her lips,

'He'll win,' she said, with more confidence than she felt.

The words had barely left her mouth when Godric tripped on a loose rock and fall flat on his face, to Hamon's howls of laughter. The young wizard had been sneaking too many furtive glances in their direction and as a consequence misjudged his footing.

'He's a dead man,' Helga sighed drolly.

The two witches remained in their company for a long while, offering aid and advice. After sharing a noon meal, they departed, Helga in search of her great-grandfather and Rowena to find her father. Before she left, Rowena had turned and quickly promised in a hushed whisper to come and find him before his battle began. Godric's face had instantly reddened and he spent the next moments pointedly ignoring Salazar and Hamon's amused gazes.

Godric did seek some time alone to gather his thoughts and quell his needling fears. He took a sword that Bayard lent him and practised the sword strokes which he had been tutored in for the last five years, before moving on to his wand. It was his magic that he most feared would unman him, for he still lacked control of it, especially in threatening situations. In Avalon's tiltyard, he could seek a brief reprieve if he sparred against Alain, but he could expect no such courtesy from the deadly Killer-Bjorn. Yet, Godric did have something up his sleeves, an idea which had materialised during his long lessons with Yusuf and listening to drunken tales in Avalon's guardroom, before being practised repeatedly in the privacy of the tiltyard. It was by no means perfected, but it could potentially save his life when he battled Killer-Bjorn.

The rest of the day was spent in the company of his friends. Yet, the mood was morbid in the Lord of Avalon's camp and Godric could sense their fear for him. All of Alain's retinue had approached him to offer their advice for the fight to come, but his uncle had been markedly absent from the camp, which cast the young wizard into an even sourer mood.

He was nibbling at a small, tasteless bowl of pottage when Ella found him. The whore had dragged herself from her new lover's bed and had come to Godric as the bearer of news,

'I told you once,' she said as she emerged from the darkness, 'that ill fortune seemed to cling to you. But even I underestimated your penchant for trouble. You're a dangerous man to know Godric…' She sat down beside him, smoothing out her rumpled skirts and plucking the pottage bowl from his hands. She sniffed the meal once, shrugged at the unappetizing smell and then helped herself to a mouthful. Scowling at her assessment, Godric was patient enough to wait for Ella to speak, recognising the whore's playful games.

'I have discovered that you can learn much when sharing a bed with a prominent wizard,' she told him conspiratorially, 'did you know that how well you do in this duel tomorrow may decide the fate of Britain? If you win, then Lord Alain's influence will remain unchanged. If you lose, then his more fickle supporters will disperse like smoke in a strong breeze and ultimate power over the Wizengamot will lay in the hands of this Lady Melusine.'

'This wasn't my doing!'

'It was your decision to accept the challenge, to leap without thinking into the trap which was set for you with no thought for the consequences,' she suddenly retorted waspishly, 'you may not have been the cause, but your recklessness has pitted all on one throw of the dice. Amalric has told me much about the state of wizarding Britain, the feuds which plague it and the divisions which have caused rival factions to hiss and snarl at each other like wolves. Now, this magical world stands on a precipice of change, teetering on the edge of ruin. Yet still an uneasy peace has managed to last, no single faction able to gain the upper hand over the other. Now, because of your rash actions, you may have endangered the peace and steered them to war!'

'Why are you telling me this?' Godric growled, irritated and in no mood for her games.

'Because you need to be aware of what hangs in the balance. Besides, Amalric asked me to pass on this knowledge. He fears that his father is blinded by all the talk of blood purity and may break over a generation of Black tradition to throw their familial wealth behind Melusine's cause. He sent me with this message as a show of good faith and once Alain returns, I shall share it with him.' She finished eating and pressed the empty bowl back into Godric's hands. Standing, she made to leave, but paused before the night's gloom shrouded her completely,

'I also once said that you were almost a man,' she told him seriously. When you meet that wretched creature in battle tomorrow, it is time to prove your manhood.'

Godric's night was a restless affair. He experienced the most fretful sleep of his life, haunted by uncertainties and eventualities which had yet to come to pass. The nightmarish presence of the harbinger of death also granted him little sleep. This time, they did not meet upon the field of battle but faced each other in one of Avalon's mystical glades, surrounded by a clogging mist. Lost in the murky fog, Godric could hear the screams of women and the clash of fighting men, as well as seeing the dull flash of shadowy lights illuminating the dark glade. Godric didn't know where this fighting was taking place or the cause of the conflict and even if he wished to help, he seemed transfixed by the towering figure's unsettling presence.

Unlike his past dreams, the haunting apparition had made no move to engage him, but simply chose to watch him from behind that eyeless mask. Godric thought that this drawn out inaction was more unnerving than the armed and grisly spectre bearing down on him with his gore-encrusted sword raised and a wand crackling with malicious spells.

Then suddenly, the spectre drove its sword into the ground and threw aside its wand. Reaching up with large gloved hands, it unbuckled the helm from its head and slowly lifted it clear. As the spectre, who had remained faceless for so many years finally revealed the features behind the mask, Godric's mouth fell open at the sight, for the spectre was not as faceless as he first thought. As the spectre's mouth stretched into a knowing smile, Godric screamed, a cry so loud that it startled him from his slumber.

Following this nightmare, any attempt at sleep was futile. Godric rose early, drenched in sweat and his muscles weary. Alain's camp was silent and still, the yew trees stained with a layer of glimmering dew which twinkled like tiny stars in the faded sun which had yet to rise above the distant horizon. Still haunted by spectres revelation, Godric ventured into the lakes' chilling depths in order to calm his frayed nerves. The cooling water had its desired effects and soon his mind was clear and his body refreshed. When he finally emerged from the lake and was once again greeted by the pale sun, he found Alain waiting patiently for him with a clean tunic and morning meal.

'Here,' his uncle said with a sad smile, offering him a bowl of burned porridge and honeyed bread. When Godric looked at the meal and grimaced, Alain chuckled and shrugged dismissively, 'I'll admit, cooking charms are not my forte. But you'll need it to give your muscles strength for the trial to come. Sit awhile and eat, I'd like to speak to you before the others rise…'

As he always did, Godric followed his uncle's instruction, although Godric had little appetite. At first, Alain did not speak, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. When he did find the courage to look his nephew in the eye, the Lord of Avalon's expression burned with regret,

'I am sorry,' Alain said meaningfully, 'I truly am. If I had been wiser, more alert to Melusine's motives, then maybe this could all have been averted.'

'No,' Godric disagreed, shaking his head wearily, 'Melusine had this planned long before the Wizengamot was called. You could have done nothing more than you already have,'

'But if not for Salazar, Merlin bless him, then you'd be dead already…'

'I've grown up watching your retinue train to fight,' Godric smiled sadly, 'I dreamed of the day I could join them. They would not have let any of the dogs in Bellême's pay take me. You wouldn't either…'

'You think I would have tipped our world into chaos to spare your life?'

'Yes,' Godric said firmly. Alain smiled sadly, seeing the truth in Godric's words. He leant over and grasped his nephew's shoulders, staring into those emerald eyes which reminded him so much of the half-sister he could scarcely remember.

'Have you had a chance to observe Killer-Bjorn fight?'

'No,' Godric admitted, 'but Helga ferch Pedr has and she told me all she knows. They say he's a berserk.' The young wizard gulped, for he had grown up hearing tales about these legendary warriors and he feared meeting one in battle.

'Berserk or not,' Alain calmed him, 'Killer-Bjorn will not be invulnerable. Hugh defeated a troll, and nothing is as berserk as a wrathful troll. Besides, all Seidr fight like mad dogs.'

'Salazar advised that if I can weather the initial storm, I should be able to survive.'

'Salazar often speaks good sense,' Alain acknowledged warmly, 'but I believe he is mistaken about this. Killer-Bjorn will underestimate you and may not think the berserk rage is needed to defeat you. However, it may be in your best interest if Killer-Bjorn does. Try to antagonise him and use his feuds to unsettle him. You may be able to slip through his guard.'

'Easier said than done,' Godric mumbled, making Alain laughed,

'You will survive this,' his uncle reassured him, 'just remember that you are a wizard too. You will have both a sword and wand, and the skill to unite them.' Godric nodded, understanding what his uncle was trying to tell him. Too often in their lessons together, Godric would depend on one or the other rather than uniting his skills with both to promising effect. Alain was reminding him that he had the potential to be a dual-wielder and that he may need this ability to survive the day.

Alain let him contemplate this for a moment, before smiling at his nephew.

'You said it was Helga who brought you news of Killer-Bjorn?' he asked curiously, 'is this Gofanon's great-granddaughter?'

Godric nodded,

'Good,' Alain smiled, 'it warms my heart to see you making friends rather than enemies.'

'It's easy to be friends with Helga,' Godric chuckled, 'although Salazar may say differently.'

Alain laughed aloud before his countenance became sombre once again.

'Godric,' he told him, his heart heavy, 'you are a remarkable wizard Godric and a nobler man I don't think I have ever met. It is an honour to not only know you but to call you my nephew.' Alain squeezed his broad shoulders once, then let go.

'There too few hours left before you are called to battle,' Alain stood and prepared to leave, having said what he needed to say. But before he left, he turned once more to his nephew, 'if you live through this day, then I promise you will have earned the right to join my retinue.'

Godric gave his uncle a small smile,

'I'll try to do Avalon proud, Lord,'

'You always have, Godric,' his uncle said sadly, 'just make sure you live.'

The next few hours passed far too quickly for Godric's liking. He stretched his muscles and completed a few drills with both sword and wand, but most of his time was spent in the presence of his closest friends. He tried to savour every moment with them and his heart was heavy at the thought of leaving them. However, even as he marvelled at the warmth and support he received from all of Alain's retinue. He was moved by how deeply they cared for him. From an uncharacteristically sombre Bayard to the tearful Isolde, he felt oddly disconnected from them. He was aware that these moments could be his last with those who had become like family to him. Black-Hollow was a distant memory compared to the faces of those gathered around him. He was almost reduced to tears by their belief in him, even when he couldn't believe it himself.

It was a brief moment with Rowena which truly raised his subdued spirits. She had slipped away from the vigilant watch of the handmaidens in her father's pay, for Scatter-Brain was far too excited to see the upcoming duel to notice her absence. When she found him, Godric had sought some privacy alone and was sat amidst the yew trees, looking out over the lake's tranquil water. She called out to him and he hastily tried to rise as she emerged from the trees, but she waved him back down before joining him. The atmosphere turned slightly awkward, Rowena seemingly intent on smoothing out the wrinkles of her drab skirts whilst Godric was content to simply sit and watch her, observing how she seemed embarrassed and irritated by being lost for words. Her dark eyes occasionally flickered in his direction, only to hastily retreat behind long bangs of loose raven hair before their eyes could meet,

'Your friend Hamon told me I could find you here,' she finally admitted, 'he thinks you can do with some company.'

'Hamon does things like that,' Godric murmured fondly, 'he's wiser than even he thinks he is'.

'He's worried about you,' Rowena told him, 'they all are. Your friend Slytherin can barely speak he's so worried.'

'I know,' Godric said, his fears suddenly whelming, 'they've all been telling me that I'll survive; to see this as nothing more than another training bout in Avalon's tiltyard. But we have all heard of the kind of man Killer-Bjorn is. I…I wish that I had their confidence.'

'You're very brave,' Rowena suddenly blurted very ineloquently, finally raising her gaze to meet his. She coloured immediately, but her eyes shone with belief. Suddenly it was obvious, even to Godric's inexperienced eyes that Rowena cared deeply for him and that she feared for his survival. Godric felt the sudden urge to embrace her, to wrap her in his arms and take her fear away. Before he could act on the sudden impulse, Rowena stood shakily, looking away from him. Godric stood with her but didn't move closer like his heart desired. Instead, he stayed silent, suspecting that Rowena still had more to say.

'This is all that fool Edwin's fault,' she hissed,

'Lady Melusine sees me as an enemy,' Godric disagreed, shaking his head, 'and she loathes Lord Alain. She would have found a way to incriminate me with or without Edwin's help.'

'Nevertheless,' Rowena scoffed, 'he still had a hand in it. Who does he think he is, pompously striding around in those awful clothes and with that ridiculous beard as if he is a grown wizard? He looks absurd.' She huffed, scowling, 'the Firebrands are all fools!'

'I only know him a little,' Godric defended the young wizard, dismissing the wave of pleasure which fluttered in the depths of his stomach at how vehemently she disliked Edwin because of how he had ignorantly influenced Godric's present situation, 'but I think he is a good man. He's only responsible for being played so easily by Bellême. Wiser wizards have befallen a similar fate. I do not blame him for my predicament and wish him no ill.'

'I do,' Rowena huffed, before looking sheepish, 'and that's very noble of you. But I fear that it may be too late…'

'How so?' Godric questioned inquisitively,

'I may have slipped hellebore into his mead,' she admitted,

'Isn't that poisonous?' Godric queried, thinking back to Morwenna's lessons.

'Not in very small doses,' Rowena assured him nonchalantly, 'and it wasn't nightshade. I won't have any lasting effects, although he spent most of the night and this morning in the bushes. I doubt he'll be able to attend the duel today. When I left, he was groaning like a woman in childbirth.'

'Rowena,' Godric exclaimed, although he couldn't resist chuckling in amusement at her embarrassed flush.

'He deserves it,' she insisted firmly, before glancing at him nervously, 'do you think less of me?'

'No,' Godric smiled instantly, 'I'm just weary of crossing you.'

'Do you intend to?' she challenged him coyly,

'Never,' he smiled and Rowena briefly beamed in return.

'It was Helga's who suggested it,' she finally admitted with a shrug, 'and she can be very persistent about getting her way.'

The lesson here, Godric thought ruefully, was to never cross Helga ferch Pedr and he swore to inform Salazar of what fate could befall him if he took his mocking too far.

'I have something for you,' she muttered timidly. Rowena reached up and unclasped the silver brooch which pinned her blue cloak to her shoulder, nervous hands fumbling with the pin before finally succeeding in removing the jewel. Then she stretched out her hand, offering Godric its shining burden.

'Take it,' she said softly as Godric reached out and grasped the brooch in his own hand. As he did so, their fingers glanced against the other and they both felt a sudden jolt of feeling, hastily covered.

'I can't take this,' Godric replied just as softly, examining the brooch closely. The crest of a raven with its wings spread in flight lay engraved amongst the silver spirals. He looked up, realising that this must be a family heirloom and thus, beyond any price Godric could afford.

'Please, you must,' Rowena urged him, 'in the songs I have heard, heroes of old were given small tokens by maidens, a lady's favour which was thought to bring these warriors luck in dark times.' She stepped close to him, wrapping her small hands around his own to close his fingers about the cold brooch. Her eyes sparkled and Godric found that he could not turn away from them.

'Luck?' he whispered,

'For luck,' she agreed, still staring at him unblinkingly and heedless of the blushes which stained both their faces.

'I'll wear it,' Godric promised earnestly, 'always.'

Rowena smiled brightly and breathed out a relieved sigh. She was so close that Godric felt the release blow softly across his face and he returned her smile tenfold. By all accounts, Godric barely knew the girl stood before him. Indeed, he could use the fingers of both hands to count the number of hours they had spent together. Yet, a bond appeared to exist between them, a bond which saw him yearning for those sparse moments he could stay in her presence, a yearning which fuelled his courage to such an extent that he felt as if he could face a thousand wands in battle and still be victorious.

Rowena looked as if she wished to say more, but before she could utter a word they were hailed by Hamon, Salazar and Helga, who had once again materialised out of nowhere. From the corner of his eye, Godric saw Rowena quickly step away from him as their friends emerged from the trees, breaking the strange spell which had descended over them.

'The odds are not stacked in your favour,' Salazar admitted, drawing level. If he was worried, he hid it well and the only outward sign of his distress was the paler complexion which stained his tanned skin.

'Thanks,' Godric answered sarcastically,

'I wouldn't worry,' Salazar smiled in amusement, 'we know better. It just confirms that you've got surprise on your side.'

'We've wagered all our gold on you to win,' Hamon grinned, 'well most of it anyway, we'd be idiots not to put a few galleons against you…'

'We don't want to lose everything,' Salazar smirked.

'This is my life you're gambling on!' Godric cried incredulously,

'And we have every confidence in you to make us rich…I mean win,' Salazar chuckled sheepishly,

Godric glanced at each of his companions, scrutinising them closely,

'Have you all wagered gold on this?'

'I didn't,' said Rowena, looking disapprovingly at her companions. Godric believed her instantly. When his gaze locked on Helga, the golden haired girl simply smiled innocently back. Godric shook his head,

'I don't even want to know,'

'Godric,' Hugh voice resounded across the lakeside, interrupting their conversation, 'it is time!'

A sombre silence descended on the group. Helga and Hamon wished him luck, the latter embracing him in a suffocating bear hug before he left. Salazar caught his eye, opened his mouth to speak, but for once, words failed him and thinking better of it, he simply nodded in encouragement. Godric smiled back. He knew Salazar's guilt over the current situation hung heavy on his heart, but Godric did not blame him. This was the fault of Bellême and Melusine's cunning manipulations and his own recklessness. At least a trial by battle meant that he'd have a wand, sword and the chance to put his life in his own hands.

Rowena lingered behind, looking as if she wished to say more. But as Godric began to inquire about what troubled her, she suddenly darted forward and embraced him.

'Live,' she breathed in his ear. Godric was stunned. When he moved to return it, Rowena hastily broke the embrace and hurried away, blushing more fiercely than Godric. She ignored Hugh's stern gaze as she fled past him, but as Godric ambled towards him, the younger man thought he saw the smallest of smirks breaching Hugh's stony expression. He shrewdly chose to ignore the castellans questioning gaze and let Hugh lead him away so that they could prepare for the duel to come.

It was sweltering in thick gambeson and leather jerkin he pulled on. They wouldn't do much against powerful spells or strong sword blows, but the gambeson would soften bruising spells and the leather could turn aside a weak attack. Hugh remained silent as he helped Godric dress and didn't comment when the young wizard pinned the silver brooch onto the thick leather at his shoulder. He traced a finger across the silver raven and silently wondered what luck it would bring him.

After buckling a thick belt about his waist, Godric sighed. This was it; time to prove before the eyes of wizarding Britain what kind of a man he would be. He could already hear the distant echo of an excitable crowd waiting for the trial to begin. He brushed sweat from his eyes, although he couldn't tell whether it was because of the heat or just his rising nerves.

'Ready?' Hugh finally broke the silence. Feeling nauseated, Godric could only nod stiffly, 'Lord Alain wanted to be the one to do this. He had some final words to say to you. Sadly, Lord Gofanon is enraged by what has come to pass and has requested Lord Alain's counsel, so he has sent me in his stead.' Godric nodded stiffly, wondering if his disappointment at Alain's absence had been so noticeable.

Hugh scrutinised Godric for a few heartbeats, before reaching up and drawing the sword that hung at his shoulder. The castellan looked down at it, before holding it out to Godric and urging him to take it. The younger man gasped in wonder as he reached out and took the blade by its hilt. He held it up, marvelling at how perfectly balanced it was, as well-crafted a sword as human hands could forge.

'This sword has not left my side for more than a score of years. Today, it is yours to use. I do not doubt that your opponent will have magically enhanced his own weaponry. He seems like a man of little honour, the type who would seek every advantage before the battle has even begun. I do not know what magic is in the brooch that maiden gave you. It may not hold any at all. Yet, this sword is warded against magic,' Godric looked closely at the sword, seeing the runic scrawl engraved into the blade, 'and it contains certain defences against spells. In all my years, you are the best I've trained. There are few men I'd deem worthy of wielding this sword, but you are one of them.'

Godric felt the sting of tears prickling his eyes. Never had his mentor ever shared such encouraging words. He tried to reply but found that his tongue had betrayed him. He had dreamed of holding this weapon and he suddenly felt the burning desire to wield this blade with the justice it deserved.

Hugh nodded, understanding what had remained unsaid. Then he led Godric from Alain's tent and towards the makeshift arena where the duel would take place. Godric could see a huge crowd gathering around the deadly arena. He tried to ignore the tumult of noise which echoed from it, fruitlessly attempting to calm his rising nerves. A pair of sparrowhawks danced overhead and Godric tried to determine whether this was a good omen or not, then decided it was a pointless task. He would not put his life in the hands of superstitions, but in his own skill with wand and sword.

'Remember,' Hugh told him as they walked, 'that you are not just fighting to acquire justice for Hadrian. Nor are you fighting simply to defend Lord Alain's honour. You are fighting for yourself. Bellême singled you out because he believes that you are weak. Prove the bastard wrong. This Killer-Bjorn may have more experience, but you have surprise in your favour and skill which far out strides his. They do not know how capable you are.'

As they neared the arena, a great cry rose from the throng of spectators and all eyes turned to watch him. Hugh strode out in front, using his size to intimidate the crowd into parting before them. Godric looked straight ahead, although he couldn't quite ignore pitying expressions on many faces or the scornful jeers from those who crowded around him.

When they were within a few yards of the arena, Hugh leant in close and whispered in his ear,

'Get close, use your sword and end it quick. Kill him if you get the chance,' and with this last whisper of advice, Hugh shunted Godric into the arena and left the fate of his protégé in Godric's own hands.

The duelling arena was a small, circular tract of land surrounded by a ring of stones which marked the arena's boundaries. Each stone had a grisly skull placed upon it, their eyeless sockets facing inwards and with a glowing mark scratched into their foreheads. These skulls were the guardians of the wards and would ensure that no spectators would be harmed by any wayward spells cast by the duellers. Their presence would also deter any intervention or aid the crowd may offer, for as soon as the trial by battle began no one but the two fighting men would be allowed to cross these boundaries until a victor had been decided.

Standing alone at the edge of this new stage, Godric paused to assess the environment. The site for the trial had been hastily decided. Small rocks and fallen branches littered the arena, which was a dust-covered ring of land with little pockets of grass sprouting haphazardly around them. A large crowd surrounded it, for unlike the Wizengamot, any wizard or Muggle was allowed to watch this spectacle of blood. Godric quickly located his uncle. Alain stood close by, his squires and retinue gathered loyally around him. Alain smiled encouragingly at Godric, then bent his head to listen as Hugh shouldered his way through the throng to whisper in his ear. Salazar and Hamon were smiling as confidently as they dared, joining in with the cascade of applause and cheers which exploded from Bayard, Isolde and the rest of Alain's retinue who were keen to demonstrate their support for one of their own.

Rowena was stood nearby, her foolish father and their fellow outlandish countrymen amassed around her. Helga stood at her friend's side, deciding that Rowena would need her presence more than her great-grandfather required it. They both smiled at him, but such was Godric's nausea that he could barely return it without threatening to vomit.

Melusine was perched on her throne like chair, casually sipping wine as she prepared to enjoy the entertainment to come. Godric felt a sudden surge of hatred whelm up inside him as she smiled wolfishly in his direction. Her supporters were clustered around her, all confident and waiting with eager anticipation for blood to be spilt. Bellême's expression was unreadable, whilst Melusine's lover Thorvald stood tall and as grim as ever, displaying no hint of fear for his kinsman. Then Killer-Bjorn emerged from the crowd and Godric had eyes for no one else.

Outwardly, Killer-Bjorn appeared confident and at ease, the opposite of Godric's ashen-faced, nerve-wrecked countenance. But the occasional twitch and the wildness which shone in his eyes betrayed his adrenaline and eagerness to begin what he thought would be a slaughter. His thatch of dark hair hung loose to his shoulders whilst his beard clinked and glistened as the iron rings he'd sowed into it shone in the pale sun and shuddered with every breath. He wore dark robes of midnight blue and in his hand was the gnarled staff of a Seidr wizard. A sheathed broadsword hung at his hip. Before the duel could begin, Melusine ordered the Seidr wizard to kneel beside her. Once she had his ear, she crooned something inaudibly into it, which made the Icelander's eyes widen in surprise. He murmured something in return, grinning eagerly before returning to the duelling ring. When their gazes met, Killer-Bjorn smiled slyly. Godric scowled back and deep within his soul, he felt his magic stir in anticipation.

The ring of spectators parted and Gofanon stalked forwards, conjuring large stone steps until a large podium was erected and he stood taller than all those who had mustered to watch the trial,

'Wizards of Britain,' he cried, using a sonorous charm to magically magnify his voice so that it carried over many rows of heads, 'we are here to witness a trial by battle. Killer-Bjorn the Icelander has sworn that Godric of Avalon slew his kinsman unjustly and has challenged him to a duel to the death. Godric of Avalon claims he is innocent. He has sworn on his magic that Killer-Bjorn lies and that Rurik Ragnarsson died fairly as he sought the death of the Lord of Avalon. Let this battle decide who speaks the truth. Once battle has joined, it can only end when one of these men lies dead on the field and only then can the truth be assured…'

Gofanon looked at the two combatants gravely.

'It is customary to salute your opponent,' he told them sternly. Neither Godric nor Killer-Bjorn moved. Gofanon chose to wait a few heartbeats until it was clear that this tradition would be ignored. He sighed and then raised his wand high above his head.

'When the horn call sounds,' he roared for all to hear, 'then the trial by battle will commence…'

Godric tightened his grip on Hugh's sword and gently pressed a hand for luck against the raven-brooch pinned to his jerkin. As his eyes never left Killer-Bjorn's, Godric missed the sly smile a keen-eyed Helga bestowed on Rowena as she nudged her with an elbow, triggering a bright blush from the older maiden. Rowena pointedly ignored her young friend's amusement, for she refused to take her eyes from Godric. Salazar and Hamon waited with baited breath, both silently praying for Godric's victory whilst Alain and Hugh appeared grimmer than many had ever seen them.

Godric's breathing stilled and time seemed to slow. His short life had led to this moment. It was time to prove that his childhood desire of becoming the greatest fae-knight in the wizarding world were more than just idle fantasies. Stood alone, with no one to aid him, he suddenly felt the overwhelming impulse to do as Rowena had urged. He wanted to live.

Sparks shot from Gofanon's wand and a high horn call resounded over the arena.

Godric was moving before the echo died…

Killer-Bjorn's staff twirled in his hand as he raised it high, a curse already on his lips. But Godric's youthful reflexes proved superior and he sent a spell hurtling towards the wild wizard. It hissed as it narrowly missed Killer-Bjorn's ear and exploded against the magical wards. The wards shimmered brightly in a shower of colourful sparks as they protected the crowd from wayward spells.

Killer-Bjorn's smile vanished, instantly replaced with a scowl. Then a barrage of spells issued forth from his staff, which shone with crackling magic. Godric dodged two blazing red hexes and summoned a shield to deflect a third, his feet moving as quickly as his wand-hand, content to test Killer-Bjorn's power. He realised early that whilst staffs stored more magic and were capable of distributing curses with the force of a thunderous striking hammer, they lacked the finesse and speed of a wand.

Twice Godric had a chance to strike, but both times he hesitated, unsure whether he should go on the offensive or hold back to let Killer-Bjorn exhaust himself, which gave his enemy a chance to recover. Then he was forced to hastily duck away from another colourful salvo, rolling aside from a vicious cutting curse which threw up a long line of dust and earth as it hewed the ground where Godric had stood a moment before.

Forced to watch with the rest of the crowd, Salazar was itching to draw his wand and rush to his brother's aid. Indeed, Hamon was thinking the same and seemed just as prepared to dart forward, heedless of the fact that he was unarmed. Yet the glistening barriers between the skull-laden stones hindered any advance they could hope to make. Salazar heard a growl beside him and he turned to find Alain staring piercingly at the scene playing out before them,

'Don't hesitate,' Alain hissed softly, his anger flaring as he saw his nephew commit to the same complacency which had plagued his magical duels for last few years.

Godric rolled to his feet, breathing hard and suddenly discomfited. Another curse burst into flames beside him and Godric was again forced to instinctively dance aside. He risked a glance at his opponent, only to find the wizard unflustered and he felt fury suddenly surge within his heart. Killer-Bjorn's last spell had been cast with the intention of engulfing the young wizard in flames and roast him alive. These were not flashy spells for the benefit of entertaining a crowd baying for blood. This was magic designed to harm, even to kill, and with this realisation, Godric came crashing back to reality. He was not in Avalon's tiltyard. He was not sparring with his childhood friends and there would be no reprieve if he made a mistake. He was in a duel to the death and if he lost then his life was forfeit and his honour discredited. The anger in his heart turned to a chill fury, as cool as the deadly steel in his hand.

Godric dodged another spell, then cried out loudly as he raised his wand. No spell flew towards Killer-Bjorn. Instead, it appeared as if all the debris which littered the duelling arena had been summoned towards Godric. Yet it did not strike him but seemed to be forming a human-like figure made from stone and wooden shards until it stood between Godric and Killer-Bjorn, hulking and prepared to defend the wizard who had conjured it into existence.

The impressive feat of magic caused an awed murmur to rattle through the crowd. The silent golem stood as tall as a man and despite it lacking a head, one arm and had several gaping holes in its torso, the golem seemed capable of fulfilling the role Godric had summoned it to play. Transfiguration had always been a particular forte of his, a discipline of magic well-suited to Godric's vivid imagination. In truth, Godric had taken the idea from his own English heritage and the shield-bearers of old. Those shield-bearers were like the aged Siward, whose oath-sworn loyalty demanded that they stand, fight and die to protect their liege lords. It was the code of a warrior which was now rarely practised and had long passed into legend. Now Godric used their legacy for his own purpose.

It didn't take long for his opponent to respond. A venomous volley of spells flew forth with deadly intent and Godric urged the golem forward to meet them. The half-formed golem leapt on, ignoring the thunderous blows delivered by the first spells which impacted against it and the crowd gasped as the young apprentice of Avalon was finally able to retaliate with spells of his own, firing them from behind the safety of the golem's looming figure.

Then a sizzling curse tore the golem's arm from its shoulder. It reared back from the force, temporarily knocked off balance. But before it could right itself, Killer-Bjorn twirled his staff and pointed it directly at the stone sentinel. There was a flash of white light and suddenly the golem exploded outwards, scattering stone, splinters and billows of dust across the arena. Blinded by the dust cloud, Godric heard Killer-Bjorn's wild bellow and instinctively threw up a shield charm.

As abruptly as his shield shimmered into existence, it was struck by a great orb of seething blue flame. Godric's hasty defences shattered instantly and with a cry he was thrown from his feet, sent spinning backwards before coming to an unceremonious halt when he landed prostrate on the flat of his back.

Godric hastily scrambled to his knees. He was winded, gasping for breath and with his eyes stinging and half-blinded by dust, Godric tried to scramble to his feet. He seemed unharmed, the padded gambeson having soaked up most of the crunching force he had landed with. But his mind quickly realised that whilst his sword was still clasped in his hand, his wand was missing. As the haze of dust slowly shifted with the breeze, he found it lying amidst a small patch of parched grass, at least ten yards from him. His eyes widened, for the distance was too great for him to reach before his opponent cursed him. Killer-Bjorn was prowling the ring, searching for a more advantageous viewpoint through the dust cloud.

Crippled with inaction, Godric remained motionless as his enemy blindly circled him. A sudden laugh pierced his fretful and disordered mind. Mocking laughter, eerily similar to that of the masked spectre who had haunted his nightmares for so many years. With a swift glance, he discovered that it was Bellême who laughed. The powerful magnate watched on, chuckling in amusement at Godric's paltry efforts. Godric's eyes turned to the figure beside the wretched baron. Melusine lounged resplendently upon her litter, her fair face smiling victoriously as she saw her vile plans bearing fruit. His anger flared, willing him to rise to his feet. As he tried to stand, the jeers of the crowds seeped into his consciousness and his anger flared brighter at the taunts.

' _Channel it_ ,' Godric heard Hugh's voice order, drilled deep into his mind through hours spent on Avalon's tiltyard, forceful and broaching no argument.

Standing stiffly amidst the baying crowd, Salazar barely had the courage to watch as Killer-Bjorn raised his staff and cast a spell which dispersed the blinding dust cloud to reveal a dishevelled Godric crouched upon the ground.

'Get up,' the young wizard heard Alain snarl fiercely. Standing nearby, Rowena seemed unable to turn away even as fear clawed at her heart.

Godric lumbered to his feet and stumbled aside as a series of spells raked the ground beside where he had fallen. Killer-Bjorn's rate of spell-fire had slowed and Godric was certain that his opponent's last spell had been cast with the intention of narrowly missing. Killer-Bjorn's smile was arrogantly confident as if he thought the battle was already won. The Seidr wizard was toying with him now, content to prolong the entertainment for the benefit of their bloodthirsty crowd. Excitement rippled through them, for now, Godric had regained his feet, it was clear to all that his wand was lost. He had been disarmed of his magic, with nothing more than a Muggle's sword to defend him against a staff-wielding mage who possessed a killer's instinct. They assumed the trial by battle would soon be over and this bloody ritual complete.

What they did not expect was Godric's sudden defiance. Standing tall, he released a roaring battle cry before charging towards Killer-Bjorn with his sword raised. It was an unexpected move, for it stunned everyone including Killer-Bjorn who lurched to a surprised halt as Godric, spurred on by the derision of the crowd, burst from the dispersing dust. The young wizards face didn't betray the desperation of a man soon to die or the anger of a man raging against his fate. Rather it showed a cold serenity which blazed with a killing intent not commonly found in such a young wizard.

The blood of his forefathers had awoken in Godric's veins and the battle-calm, the fabled state of a warrior, had finally descended.

Killer-Bjorn recovered quickly and levelled his staff at the young wizard surging towards him. Godric, as agile as a prancing stag, dodged aside from his opponent's first spell and ducked a second, his momentum unchanged as he closed the gap between them. Then a third curse suddenly crackled into being just as Godric reached Killer-Bjorn. It was too late to avoid it, but already the sword of Hugh was flashing in his hand and Godric deflected the spell away with the magically enhanced blade. The sword, reinforced by magic, didn't shatter and with a final cry of elation, Godric leapt forward, bringing the sword back and ready to strike.

The Icelander was unsheathing his own sword even as his eyes widened in disbelief. Killer-Bjorn was no dual-wielder, but like all Seidr he was accomplished in the art of swordplay. The combatant's blades clashed twice before Killer-Bjorn, twirling his staff deftly in his hand, brought both his weapons swinging down. Godric's sword rose to meet them, bringing the blade and staff to a sudden halt as the two duelling wizards began to strain against each other. Killer-Bjorn had a strength born from experience and a lifetime of hardship, but Godric was both taller and broader than the Icelander. The glow from Killer-Bjorn's staff burned Godric's flesh, but he took no heed of his discomfort, for he concentrated on his opponent as the Icelander snarled and spat in his face.

'Just lie down and die, little puppy-dog!' he hissed, spewing his foul, rancid breath from a maw of rotting teeth, 'you can do nothing against this wolf.'

Godric barely heard him as his muscles strained against the Icelander's strength. Dimly, he could hear Hugh's voice resonating in his mind. Bastards survive, for that was what knights were and there was no honour on a battlefield, just a will to survive, fight and win. Suddenly, his mother's voice flooded his senses, telling him that he would one day have to choose who he wanted to be and the memory of her name for him, _her brave little lion_ , gave a sudden surge of strength to his body.

'If you're a wolf,' Godric snarled back, 'then I am a lion.'

Godric swung back his head and launched it forwards. Blood splattered across his face as his forehead crashed into Killer-Bjorn's face and Godric felt his opponents nose crumple beneath his skull. The pressure on his blade was instantly released as Killer-Bjorn whirled away in pain and shock. The reaction of the crowds crashed over them, most crying out in surprise whilst Alain's gathered retinue roared their approval. Salazar and Hamon cheered loudest of all, recognising a move born from Godric's lessons under Bayard's bruising tuition. The young wizard glanced to where Melusine's faction gathered and saw that the witch's smile had vanished, whilst Bellême had fallen silent. Watching on, Helga whooped with delighted laughter as Rowena felt an unfamiliar sensation at Godric's display of an ignoble brutal streak she hadn't anticipated him possessing. A flutter of excitement burned deep within her at the realisation.

Back in the arena of battle, Godric's pressure was relentless as he pursued his stricken enemy. A flurry of blows crashed down upon Killer-Bjorn, who hastily knocked them away before lunging with his own blade. Godric parried it aside and the Icelander yelled out a spell, his staff suddenly bursting into flame as he twirled it into an attack at the same time Godric swung his sword to meet it. One blow deflected it downwards, another parried Killer-Bjorn's sword aside and then Hugh's blade was swinging around in a bright ark. A sharp crack resounded over the arena and molten sparks showered the area. Killer-Bjorn's staff was as thick as a small hand and protected by many runic-spells, but Hugh's sword had been forged by the by the finest swordsmiths in Christendom and now it proved its worth by hewing the Icelander's staff in two as easily as a knife carving butter.

Killer-Bjorn didn't have time to register his loss before Godric's elbow crashed into his face, breaking the Icelander's teeth. Only a hasty backhanded swipe kept Godric at bay, stopping the young wizard's eager pursuit. Both combatants took a welcome pause from their trial, breathing heavily with exertion. Now they were both wandless and the duel would be decided on swords alone, for neither combatant could dive for Godric's discarded wand without the other taking advantage of their momentary defencelessness. Killer-Bjorn's smile had been wiped from his blood-splattered face. His glare, wilder than ever because of the throbbing pain from his broken teeth and nose, promised instant and violent retribution. Godric's gaze remained emotionless, giving nothing away.

With a keening yell, Killer-Bjorn charged again, his broadsword hissing through the air towards his younger opponent, who dived forward to meet him. The clash of steel rang out as the duellers exchanged a flurry of blows, fleetingly sprang apart and then darted into another attack. It was clear that they were evenly matched. Godric was the greater swordsman, with huge potential if he survived the day. But he lacked the cunning experience that the Icelander possessed in abundance and which had seen him victorious in many duels. It was only Godric's youthful agility and strength which kept him alive during the next exchange as Killer-Bjorn rained huge blows upon Godric.

Both men were bleeding. Godric's face was cut from ear to forehead, a wound he'd received when his tiring reflexes had proved too slow to fully avoid his enemy's frenzied hacks. It now bled profusely and half-blinded his right eye. A sword blow had also struck his left shoulder and whilst it was bleeding heavily, at least he could still use his arm. But Killer-Bjorn was also hurting, for his robes were torn and stained red on the left side where he'd narrowly avoided being disembowelled. Blood also dribbled down his neck, for in another test of strength between the combatants, Godric had managed to throw off Killer-Bjorn's assault and the Icelander's lapse in balance had gifted the young wizard the opportunity to strike. It was a clumsy and wild blow, but it still found Killer-Bjorn's neck with enough force to send the Seidr reeling away choking. It was a killing blow, but this was a battle between wizards and the iron rings which hung from Killer-Bjorn's beard were charmed with protective spells. Instead of tearing out the Icelander's throat, the rings had enough strength to deflect Godric's own magically enhanced blade. As they finally disengaged, a few of the iron rings dropped to the ground, hewed from the hair and severed in several places.

They panted heavily, their breath rasping in their throats. Although his lungs burned, his head stung and his muscles ached from the continuous train, Godric's world was now inhabited by only one man. All his focus was directed towards the Icelander, who seemed similarly affected for the conceited smile had finally faded. Godric was so focused that he was ignorant of the concerned looks he was receiving from his friends. Salazar had winced and turned ashen-faced when Godric had received his head-wound. Rowena's reaction had been far more noticeable. She had spent most of the battle in strained silence, but when Godric had almost had his head carved apart by the Icelander's sword, she had gasped loudly in horror and had gripped Helga's arm so tightly that younger girl cried out from the pain of it. The unexpected response had earned her a puzzled look from her bemused father, who had been watching the duel with rising excitement and awe. He quickly dismissed it, returning his attention to the battle at hand. Helga threatened to jinx Rowena if she dared do that again.

Godric missed it all, for he used the much-needed respite to assess the situation and plan his next move. He knew he would have to end it soon or Killer-Bjorn's experience, as wearied as it was, would soon begin to tell. As he stared at Killer-Bjorn, he noticed that the Icelander appeared to be glancing at someone in the crowd and following his gaze, Godric saw that his opponents gaze strayed to Melusine, who sat amidst the Icelander's loudest supporters. He remembered how it had been Melusine's words which had encouraged Killer-Bjorn and a fledgeling idea began to take shape in his mind.

The next time their sword-dance met, they approached each other slowly and without crying out in an effort to conserve their flagging energy. However, they had only traded a few strokes before their blades locked again. As they strained against the other, Godric took his chance.

'What has she promised you?' Godric grunted between clenched teeth.

'Honour,' the Icelander spat back, bloodied saliva spraying Godric's face,

'Honour?' Godric growled mockingly, 'you have no honour! Is it gold? Weapons? Power?'

Killer-Bjorn grunted but didn't reply. Godric grimaced,

'Or was it her body?'

A furious scowl darkened the Icelander's features, but his silence was telling and Godric knew he'd struck the truth. During the brief interlude in their fight, Godric had observed how his opponent had sent fleeting glances towards his patron and he'd recalled the memory of how Killer-Bjorn's gaze had yearningly lingered on Melusine throughout their meeting. Loyalty and honour had not influenced his support for the witch, for it was interweaved and overpowered with the lust and passion he felt for a woman who had taken his fairer cousin as her lover and treated him as nothing but a valuable yet wild, untameable hound. Now, with such cunning that it would have brought a proud smile to Salazar's lips, Godric wielded this truth like a blade.

Godric laughed grimly,

'Bloody fool,' Godric snarled scornfully, 'She lied! Even Melusine wouldn't rut with a hog!'

His barb had the desired effect, for Godric's piercing revelation finally struck a nerve. Deep within his soul, Killer-Bjorn knew it to be true and he expressed his hurt in the only way violent men of his heritage could. He went berserk.

Killer-Bjorn roared like one of the huge frost giants which stalked the mountains of his homeland. His rage erupted in the fabled state of the berserk, those men who were so consumed with fury that they became like wild beasts in battle, finally consumed him. The air around him seemed to shimmer with untamed magic and such was the force of his anger that he was able to throw Godric away from him before launching a furious assault with renewed vigour. He was battle-mad with bloodlust and the huge blows he launched at Godric had the strength to sever the head from an ox as a chorus of encouragement and shouting roared from the crowd. But Godric kept his head and with a sobering coolness he parried aside each furious attack until his arms screamed with aching stress.

Godric managed to stay alive until the time to act finally arrived. Killer-Bjorn surged forwards to renew his assault, Godric deflected a flurry of blows before dodging a thrust and lashing out with a well-aimed kick. Killer-Bjorn was bowled over, rolled quickly to his feet and charged again, his mouth frothing and spitting with hatred. But Godric was already darting away, sprinting as fast as his labouring breath would allow towards where his fallen wand lay abandoned. The Icelander immediately followed in murderous pursuit. The crowd roared louder, sensing that the battle was nearing its end.

Sprinting because his life depended on it, the young wizard dived unceremoniously for his wand. Godric yelled out as his fingers brushed against the wand, almost slipped away and then finally managed to grasp it. Godric rolled, letting his momentum drive him on as he sprang to his feet. Killer-Bjorn, grinning as madly as any fiend and with the blood of a berserk burning in his veins, reached him the instant Godric rose up and lunged with the intent of plunging his blade through the small of Godric's back. In that moment, the crowd stilled and only a combined cry from Salazar, Hamon and Rowena broke the sudden silence. Then as one they gasped, gaping in shock as the duel came to an abrupt and violent halt…

For as Killer-Bjorn's sword thrust forward with the killing stroke, Godric suddenly spun aside. In the same moment, he pointed the wand at his opponent's blade and roared.

'EXPULSO!'

The spell forced the sword down with jarring strength, grinding the blade's point into the earth. Killer-Bjorn stumbled forward, overbalancing and cried out in agony, his muscles tearing as his blade was wrenched from his grasp. Still twirling deftly as he spun away from Killer-Bjorn's killing thrust and his wand burst into life, Godric brought his sword swinging around and delivered a blow worthy of a true dual-wielder and as strong as any he had ever struck.

Killer-Bjorn's scream was cut abruptly short.

Blood splattered the arena. The Icelander stumbled forward for a few uncertain steps, then collapsed into an undignified heap, twitching with blood spurting over the earth until his body finally fell still. His head was completely severed from his body and it bounced twice before rolling to a stop in the dust, leaving a trail of iron rings and gore in its wake. The mad grin was still transfixed upon his face, but those wild eyes, now wide and unseeing, stared out from where the head had fallen towards the witch whose ambitions had sent him to his death.

Godric stood above the corpse. His stroke had cut into the nape of the Icelander's neck. After all, he was a Seidr wizard and it was inconceivable to think that he would ever turn his back on an enemy. No magical rings had been sowed into the wild locks and his neck was unable to resist Godric's blow. It was Killer-Bjorn's downfall. Now, Hugh's sword hung limp in Godric's hand, Killer-Bjorn's blood streaming down the blades fuller until it dribbled from the tip and formed a small gory pool at his feet. Godric breathed deeply, his eyes remaining closed.

Then the crowd roared louder than they ever had before and as Killer-Bjorn's blood soaked into the dust, the boundary wards flickered and finally died. The noise hit Godric as suddenly as a wave thrown from a storm raged sea and as he blinkingly tried to comprehend what had just happened, he saw Alain's retinue charging towards him. Salazar and Hamon were the first to reach him and they threw their arms around their young friend and engulfed him, shouting incoherently over the deafening clamour. Then Alain was there, beaming brighter than Godric had ever seen him and his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Pride radiated from his uncle. Hugh was at his shoulder and as their gazes met, he saw the castellan offer him the slightest hint of a satisfied smile before nodding approvingly, his pride in Godric's achievement matching Alain's. Stranded in the middle of a sea of awe and jubilation, he only managed to catch the briefest glimpse of two maidens cheering with the rest of the crowd. Bright tears slid unchecked down Rowena's slender face as she beamed at him, her eyes glistening with the promise of the future.

Finally, as the full realisation of what he had achieved finally consumed him and the beast within his heart roared victoriously. Amidst the maelstrom, Godric turned to face the woman whose ambitions had led him to this trial by battle. Melusine's glare was venomous, her violet eyes were more chilling than they had ever been. In contrast, Bellême looked unconcerned by the death of an ally and a thoughtful smile danced at his lips. He watched the younger wizard with an expression more unnerving than his fury, burning within those dark eyes.

Surrounded by his friends, Godric stared back, tall, valiant and defiant like a wizarding-warrior from a long gone age, with a wand and bloodied sword clasped in his hands and defiance shining from his eyes. Salazar's words had been proven true. His death may be yearned for by many, but now the wolves knew that Godric of Avalon was not an easy wizard to kill…

* * *

Here we go. Godric's starting to exhibit some of the skills that will help him become, as Rowling said, the greatest dueller of his time, whilst Salazar is becoming a gifted orator/politician. Hopefully Rowena and Helga are also showing that they're not just fragile maidens but are also starting to show glimpses of potential. Sorry for the long wait, but I really needed to nail these chapters as they are quite important for both the rest of this story and also the others to come. Hope they are worth the wait. I've got a fair few more chapters finished now so I'll hopefully be looking to post more in the coming days. Thanks for everyone whose reviewed/following the story. It means a lot...


	21. Chapter Twenty: Blood Oath

**Blood Oath**

The names of Salazar Slytherin and Godric of Avalon were on everyone's lips. Following the events which had culminated in Godric's trial by battle, the wizards of Britain were in awe of the prowess displayed by the Lord of Avalon's apprentices. They admired Salazar for his battle of wits against some of the most politically astute figures in Britain and marvelled at the martial skill shown by Godric in his duel against the dreaded Killer-Bjorn the Icelander. The power and influence behind Alain's title had seemingly blossomed overnight. Wizards and witches now sought an audience with Alain and any criticisms which had existed before the trial by battle had diminished to a murmur of discontent, when before they had been as loud as a chorus of horn-blows.

The hours which followed Godric's duel passed in a whirlwind of activity. He barely remembered being wordlessly embraced by a visibly emotional Alain, or how his uncle's retinue had instantly surrounded him in the wake of his victory. Hugh smiled in approval, Isolde delightfully kissed both his blushing cheeks and Bayard wrapped him in a bone-breaking embrace, loudly bragging to all within hearing range that it had been his brawling tricks which had won the day. Utterly exhausted by his exertions, Godric visibly wilted under their attention before being quickly ushered back to Alain's lakeside camp. Isolde, ignoring Godric's complaints and skilfully healed the contests wounds, reducing the livid cut on his head to a faint scar.

Once he had escaped Isolde, Godric had collapsed into an undisturbed slumber for the remainder of the day. He missed the conclusion of the Wizengamot, which was held following his trial by battle, where the Council had judged him innocent of any crime and saw his uncle's honour restored. Thorvald Ragnarsson had been ordered to pay a large weregild for Hadrian's unlawful death at the hands of his kinsmen. A begrudging Thorvald had left the hoard of silver in Gofanon's hands, unable to face Alain publically. That evening, when Godric finally emerged from his deep slumber, he soon learned from a smug Salazar that Melusine and Bellême, along with most of their followers, had decided not to linger on Ynys Mon for the final night of festivities. They had already departed from the Holy Isle, although no one knew where they had retreated, many suspecting that they had fled to Bellême's familial lands to lick their wounds and plot another means of ousting Alain from Avalon. Killer-Bjorn's corpse was disposed of in the old style, by being placed on a pyre and burned into ash, although a rumour stated that Melusine had kept his skull for what Alain and his allies assumed would be some dark purpose.

That night, Godric couldn't care where that vile witch and her most prominent supporter had fled. He was just glad to be alive, happy to be able to celebrate the last night of Lughnasadh in the company of his friends. Alain's camp was a popular location that night. The Lord of Avalon had invited many of the great wizards and witches to feast and talk of politics around his fire. Only a few nights had passed since Alain rejected Gofanon's plea to join a band of fellow mages in an alliance, united by a sworn oath to aid each other if called upon. But Alain's hand had been forced. It was clear that he was being targeted by Melusine and Bellême's faction and that many of his enemies and political rivals were uniting in an effort to oust him from his place of power. They had tried to take his life in the hills of northern England, had elected one of his most hated rivals to a seat on the Wizengamot and had even sought to kill his nephew. It was no stretch to imagine that they would try to end his life again, so against his own premonitions, Alain had agreed to Gofanon's strategy. He could only hope that this would be enough to deter the evil ambitions of Melusine and her mustering supporters.

Gofanon the Wise, given the seat of honour at the feast, led this ensemble of greatness. He had persuaded many of his own kin and allies amongst the wizards of Wales to attend, most notably the shrewd Cadwgan ap Bleddyn and his fiery-tempered son, Owain. Also present were Viviana of Brittany and her two former apprentices; the young, dark-haired and hazel-eyed Peredur Peverell; the hardy Dewa Swift-wand and the mysterious Nolwenn the Fae-Whisperer. Cinead of the Hallow-Hills had declined his invitation, but he had sent Aidan Scatter-brain in his stead and to once again be his voice at the meeting, although his presence elicited a unanimous groan from the other attendees.

However, there were more surprising attendees at this feast. Oswin Longbottom, the English wizard whose grudge against Alain had helped Bellême ascend to the Wizengamot, had received a summons from his old friend Gofanon and honour had decreed that he attend. The aged wizard with fading gold hair was surly and as old hurts were hard to forgive, appeared unhappy in the Lord of Avalon's presence and ignored what little attempts Alain made to converse with him. Besides this, Oswin respected Gofanon's friendship and didn't publicise his prejudices, content to hear what the Lord of Avalon had to say which had been left unsaid during the previous meeting of the Wizengamot.

Amalric Black had also decided to join them. The heir to one of the wealthiest and most influential families in Britain was a charming man and appeared eager to contribute to the assembly. Some suspected that he had only been persuaded to attend by the insistence of the beautiful redheaded woman draped in his arms, who they all knew was in Alain's employ. These suspicions were not unfounded, as they had all heard rumours that Black had obediently followed his father's lead and attended a similar audience with Melusine. As a result, he was distrusted by some, most notably Hugh Troll-Bane, who was the only Muggle granted permission to attend. No representative from the proud schools of Ireland was present, as they were deemed too far away to intervene if called upon. Besides, they were usually embroiled in petty wars between themselves to be concerned with the rivalries and power struggles breaking out over the rest of Britain.

As these great mages feasted, Alain and Gofanon tried to persuade them of the necessity to put aside their damaging feuds and forge an alliance in the face of Melusine's return and Bellême's growing power. Dangerous times lay ahead for magical Britain. Already there were whispers that master-less wizards and mercenary fighting men were being lured to the island on the promise of land and plunder from Anjou, Aquitaine, Flanders, Boulogne and the Empire. A powerful alliance may be enough to dissuade Bellême and Melusine against attempting to seize power over the Wizengamot.

Unfortunately, as Godric and Salazar were still apprentices and were deemed not of age, they were unable to attend the political meeting. Accompanied by Hamon, the three young men dutifully performed the duties allocated to squires, serving wine, food and seeing to the comfort of Alain's guests. Once these duties were completed, Alain granted them permission to enjoy their own festivities in the company of other apprentices and members of Alain's retinue who were forbidden to attend.

It was one of the happiest nights of Godric's life, as food, drink and merriment were in bountiful abundance. To his delight, Godric soon discovered that Gofanon had not lied about Helga's prowess with food charms. Hamon, famed in Avalon for his unconquerable appetite, could barely be prised away from the feast which Helga provided. The Welsh maiden responded surprisingly bashfully to the acclaim her efforts received, and her blush reddened further when even Salazar voiced his admiration for her talents. Salazar hesitated slightly after remembering Godric's warning about Helga's involvement in brewing the concoction which had purged Edwin the Firebrand's body. What Godric would remember most fondly about the night was Rowena's presence and they spent most of the night speaking quietly together. Indeed, Rowena's attention barely strayed from Godric from the moment she had glimpsed a silver raven brooch pinned proudly to his breast, which caused her to blush fiercely and her smile to widen. Godric's own blush had quickly joined hers as Rowena immediately began discussing his battle against Killer-Bjorn. The young wizard had had a hard time deciding whether the wonder in her sparkling eyes was merely his own wistful desires playing tricks with him.

Their interest in each other did not go unnoticed by their companions and it was the cause of much amusement amongst the assembled revellers. Indeed, Godric tried his best to ignore how his efforts to impress Rowena would cause their friends to chuckle fondly at their antics. After all, it was Rowena who had cheered loudest at Bayard's drunken retelling of Godric's duel and Godric who had applauded most enthusiastically as Rowena used her prowess at charms to entertain those gathered about them. However, he had slipped into an awed silence when Rowena, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dimmed by the wine she had consumed, suddenly broke into a song of her native land and began to dance gracefully in the gleam of the fires. He was not alone and when Helga's voice, as lovely as any that could be heard in the deep valleys of Wales, joined her friend's in a low harmony, the festival goers watched on in a spellbound haze until they brought the song to its soulful conclusion. Godric's cheers had almost been drowned out by the admiration of the crowd, although he noticed Rowena's flush deepen when she glimpsed his beaming smile and how enthusiastically he applauded her.

Godric's obvious attentions did not escape the notice of his fellow squires. Not long after the song the two maidens had crooned so beautifully was concluded, Hamon interrupted Godric and Rowena's animated chatter. He bowed flamboyantly to Rowena before lifting the amused maiden to her feet and twirling her into a lively dance. Godric tried to ignore the mischievous smirk Hamon sent his way, although he couldn't quite keep the scowl from his face as Rowena laughed at Hamon playful tomfoolery. It was Helga who took pity on him. As a smirking Salazar began to dance with Rowena, utilising his well-proven charm to irritate his friend, the young Welsh witch sat down beside Godric and tried to draw his attention away from the persistent teasing of his friends.

'You were good,' she said kindly, referring to his duel, 'very good actually.'

'Thanks,' Godric smiled back before his eyes once again drawn to the dancing revellers.

'You're still not as good as Rhodri mind…'

'Of course not,' he said distractedly,

'Rhodri would have decapitated that Icelander in half the time it took you,'

'Probably,' Godric admitted quietly. If the stories about the Order of Merlin were too believed, then he believed her. Helga valiantly attempted to engage Godric in conversation a few more times, before rolling her eyes when her efforts fell on deaf ears. Helga huffed at Rowena, suspecting that her friend was far more aware of the reaction she was evoking from Godric than she let on by dancing, however innocently, with two of Godric's closest companions who both, Helga had quickly learned, had reputations because of their flirtatious behaviour.

Helga's mischievous smile went unnoticed by a brooding Godric, before she leapt to her feet. She bounded away from a wrestling Bayard and Gervais, slipped past a slumbering Gilbert and skipped around other dancing revellers until she reached the only woman in Alain's retinue. Whispering in Isolde's ear, she then stepped away, content to watch her plot take fruition. Godric was stunned when he was suddenly pulled from his thoughts and swept into a dance by Isolde. He reddened; a flush which immediately grew brighter when a chuckling Isolde kissed his cheek again, accompanying it with a suggestive wink. Helga laughed aloud when she noticed the scowl which suddenly blazed across Rowena's face, a look which only darkened moments later when the revellers were joined by Ella and her young lover. Ella followed Isolde's lead and gave Godric a lingering kiss on his flushed cheek, before complimenting him on his victory.

'A victory worthy of any of the great heroes who have come before us,' added Amalric Black smoothly, as he tucked a lock of perfumed raven hair behind his ear. He nodded at Godric, before flashing a rueful smile, 'I can only offer my deepest apologies. It seems that my companion and I misjudged you when last we met. Only a great wizard could have defeated a beast like Lady Melusine's rabid Icelander.'

'My thanks, Lord, but I only did what I had to do,' Godric replied, bowing his head in acknowledgement of the wizard's praise. However, his smile wasn't quite as wide as it could have been and his expression remained unnaturally guarded. He remembered how Black had so arrogantly insulted Rowena and he found it hard to forgive an insult done to her. Black's presence also unnerved him. From what he had witnessed and heard, the heir to the Black's was a born politician, who hid a calculative and shrewd mind behind a well-schooled exterior.

'I thought I would offer my compliments,' Black continued lightly, his expression unreasonable, 'although I'm sure we all should have expected nothing less from an apprentice of the Lord of Avalon. I'd wager you'll surprise many in the years to come.'

'I hope so, Lord,' Godric nodded. For a moment, Black's grey gaze lingered piercingly on Godric with a wolfishness akin to Melusine's sharp gaze. But before his lingering look could become rude, Black smiled widely at his new lover and Godric was surprised to see Black's regal features glimmer with affection for the red-headed woman.

'This goddess,' he murmured persuasively, a lustful smile on his lips, 'harangued me greatly for suggesting that you should be exiled or passed to a slaver, and her tongue can almost bite as cruelly as her teeth. I find myself mistaken. Now, as your praise for this young man has been proven, we must depart. We have one last night together and I intend to savour it before the festivities end. Let us leave and make the most of our time together.' Black's smile was as sultry as the one Ella bestowed upon him and Godric could sense the burning lust which lingered between the lovers. He quickly bayed them goodnight and as the lovers departed into the night, Rowena soon slipped back to his side with a dazzling smile that effortlessly seized his attention and the merriment of the previous hours returned. Only Hamon watched Ella's retreating back, his face briefly contorting with hurt before he threw himself into the celebrations with renewed, drug-fuelled vigour.

Godric made a half-hearted attempt to return to his seat, but Rowena hastily grasped his hands and refused to let him do so. Instead, she swung him into another dance, laughing gleefully as pranced gracefully around the fires and dragging a smiling Godric behind her. Godric felt the thunderous beat of his heart as Rowena's body twirled past his own so closely that her robes grazed gently against his. It was exhilarating and Godric soon found himself returning Rowena's beaming smile, which induced a blazing fire in his veins and he silently thanking Merlin for Morwenna's persistence in tutoring him in the art of dancing. With the music, cheers and clapping of hands ringing in their ears, the youthful dancers felt alive as the exuberant atmosphere descended upon them.

Eventually, the feast came to an end and Alain's visitors bid the Lord of Avalon farewell as they returned to their own campfires. Aidan's hawkish eyes burned with interest when he noticed how closely his daughter lingered to Godric and his interest was evident in his thoughtful gaze. However, Godric saw how Rowena's countenance swiftly turned from playful to demure and obedient within a heartbeat as soon as she became aware of her father's presence. Godric was saddened by the change, for such a spiritless soul was ill-suited to the strong-willed maiden he had discovered Rowena to be.

Gofanon beamed as he watched the young wizards and witches enjoying the festivities and clapped a hand across the younger Alain's back.

'This is the future of our world…' he said with certainty before he beckoned Helga to him. The young witch embraced Rowena, waved at her friends and followed her great-grandfather into the night. Rowena soon followed. She bid her friend's goodnight and accompanied her father back to Cinead's camp. Watching her walk away, Godric thought he saw her hesitate after her all too brief farewell when she glanced back fleetingly one final time before she disappeared into the gloom.

Godric woke late the next morning. Mercifully, the sun lay submerged within a thick layer of morning mist and the heat of the last week had cooled. Godric groaned as he clambered into the open air. His exertions during the battle with Killer-Bjorn had finally caught up with him and now his body ached terribly. He was still exhausted, for his sleep had been punctuated by memories of the near misses, crackling spells and hissing sword strokes which had almost ended his life. Ignoring a moaning Hamon and the still unconscious Salazar, Godric plunged into the lake's murky depths to clear his foggy mind. Emerging from the icy water feeling refreshed, Godric dressed slowly as he guided his robes carefully over uncompliant muscles. Realising that most of his uncle's retinue were yet to rise, Godric wrapped his finest scarlet cloak about his shoulders and slipped away. The silver brooch clenched tightly in his hand shone in the pale light.

His destination was the encampment where the supporters of Cinead of the Hallow-Hills had pitched their tents. Godric couldn't resist the desire he felt to see Rowena one last time before Lughnasadh came to an end and only Merlin knew when he would next be able to enjoy her company. He didn't have long to wait. Godric was skirting around the edges of a holly grove which lay beside Cinead's camp. It wasn't wise to be seen visiting a young, unmarried maiden alone without the presence of a chaperone and Godric was hesitant to bring any unsought shame down on Rowena's head. Fortunately, many of the Scots had over-indulged in their celebrations the night before, for the camp lay silent and still. He entered the undergrowth, contemplating how he could gain Rowena's attention without being noticed when suddenly a voice broke the tranquillity about him.

'Godric?'

The young wizard spluttered. He twirled about swiftly, instantly recognising Rowena's voice. There she was, sat in the shadows of the grove and staring at him in surprise. She was accompanied by two servants. The first was an austere looking nurse, whilst the second was a handmaiden a few years older than her mistress. The younger maid giggled into her hand at Godric's astonished expression. The nurse's scowl cut through Godric and her brow was furrowed in disapproval at the young wizard's sudden appearance. Glancing at them uneasily, Godric turned to Rowena and hoped his mind had conjured something clever to say to ease the rising tension,

'Err…' he managed the stutter, his brain failing him instantly.

'Who is this, Lady?' the old nurse asked curtly. Rowena ignored her,

'Godric,' she said, passing the tattered scroll she had been reading to the nurse. She quickly rose to her feet, dusting down her dishevelled dress, 'what are you doing here?'

'Godric?' the nurse snapped inquisitively,

'Godric of Avalon,' the younger servant giggled unhelpfully, 'isn't he the young champion from yesterday's duel?'

'Err…,' Godric murmured, words failing him again.

'Champion?' the old nurse said suspiciously as he faltered under her piercing scrutiny, 'a fool more like...'

Godric looked beseechingly at Rowena, who instantly recognised his silent plea.

'Kenna, Fiona,' Rowena suddenly said, her voice stern, 'please leave us for a moment.'

The younger servant immediately bowed her head, before rushing from the grove, her persistent fit of giggling echoing across the glade. The old nurse didn't budge.

'Kenna,' Rowena ordered, 'leave us.'

'Lady, this is unseemly!'

'Kenna,' the young maiden snapped, visibly shocking the nurse. Rowena's stern expression didn't linger and she flashed her nurse a reassuring smile, 'please?'

Kenna looked hesitant and greatly displeased, but she couldn't disobey the girl she had helped nurse since birth.

'The Mother help me,' they heard the old nurse mutter exasperatedly as she retreated from the glade, intent on catching her younger companion before the young woman's loose tongue could lead to this secret rendezvous being discovered.

As the sound of the nurse's stomping feet died, Rowena drew her wand and silently cast a spell over the grove.

'What are you doing?'

'Casting a silencing charm,' she informed him, sheathing the wand in one of her long sleeves, 'Kenna is a squib. But she has some knowledge of lesser magic. I wouldn't trust her not to spy on us.' Then Rowena turned to face Godric, her eyebrow raised expectantly. He noticed that her alluring eyes were shadowed and it looked as if her sleep had been as restless as her own.

'I had to see you,' Godric admitted honestly, answering her unvoiced question. Rowena simply stared at him,

'So,' she pondered impishly, 'what kind of a knight stands before me? He defends the honour of those in need; fights duels in the name of others and risks slander by visiting unguarded maidens. Does this make him a paladin or a rogue?'

'Rowena…'

'I'm glad you've come,' she confessed suddenly, an amused smile flickering at her lips.

'I don't think your nurse sees it that way,' he smiled back sheepishly. She shrugged as she strode forward until she was standing before him.

'She'll get over it,' Rowena said, although Godric could tell that she was unsure whether she spoke the truth, 'it's of little consequence.'

'I wouldn't say so,' Godric said truthfully, 'if we are seen together by the wrong people, then the rumours could ruin you…'

'Hush,' she bade him with a chuckle, holding up a hand to silence him, 'you dared to risk your life in order to defend your honour by facing that wretched Icelander. I believe I can risk a little idle gossip to bid a friend farewell.' Godric gulped, holding her gaze. Rowena's eyes seemed to blaze with the same challenge he'd seen in those dark orbs during their mock bout. In that moment, it dawned on Godric that he wanted to be more than just friends with this girl and believed that they shared a bond beyond conventional friendship. Yet, he held his tongue. There would be a time for such confessions, but it wasn't today. Clearing his throat, Godric fiddled with the brooch clasped in his sweaty palm.

'It is true,' Godric admitted quietly, 'that I came because I wanted to see you. But I also wanted to return this.' He held up his hand and opened it, revealing the raven-brooch. Rowena's eyes widened and she seemed stunned by its appearance.

'My brooch,' she murmured softly, reaching out to trace the entwined patterns tenderly. Then she looked up at him, her eyes shining with hurt, 'you want to give it back?'

Godric was taken aback by the hurt in her voice and guilt flooded his veins.

'It is yours,' he replied dumbly, 'I thought you would want it returned once the duel was over.'

'It was a gift,' Rowena said quietly, her cheeks reddening. Her hands slowly encompassed his own, closing his fingers around the jewel, 'it is yours to keep for as long as you wish it.'

Godric gaped at Rowena. Her gentle touch seemed to burn his skin and turn his blood to fire. Then he smiled widely at her,

'I will treasure it,' Godric promised and his honesty was so blatant that Rowena instantly believed him. He looked down at the brooch, tracing a finger over the spiralling patterns, 'it brought me luck…'

'There was no luck about it,' she told him firmly, but her own smile had returned at his goofy expression and now danced at her lips as she looked up at him. Godric held her gaze. He saw Rowena tremor slightly as if she had been about to act upon some sudden impulse but had subdued her temptation at the last moment. Then suddenly he was engulfed in Rowena's warm embrace as she wrapped her arms tightly around his broad figure.

For the briefest heartbeat, Godric fell utterly still, before sighing and returning it wholeheartedly, wrapping his own long arms about her delicate frame as he revelled in the intimacy and comfort her grip exuded. This time, Rowena didn't leap away at his response. Instead, she chose to linger in the warmth of Godric's arms as the young wizard rested his head upon hers and breathed in the scent of flowers which wafted from her hair. A contented silence hovered about them as they stood there, both unwilling to be parted. But as the minutes slipped by, the clamour of Cinead's preparations began to echo across the little grove and Rowena reluctantly disengaged from Godric's arms.

'I must leave,' she sighed sadly, 'Kenna will be growing impatient and I fear that my presence may be missed if I linger longer.' Godric nodded, understanding the necessity of not being caught alone together. Besides, whilst Godric was brave enough to face a seasoned wizard in battle, he thought his courage may falter if the formidable Kenna decided to inquire about the time he had spent with Rowena.

'I'll see you again,' Godric said fervently, clenching the brooch tightly and watching helplessly as Rowena continued to step back, drifting further away from him. Rowena smiled at him, brushing a few loose strands of raven hair behind her ear,

'I'll hold you to that promise,' she beamed. She held his gaze one last time, conveying a silent promise of her own that she would see the young wizard again. Then she was gone, disappearing into the undergrowth as she slipped away with a rustle of loose leaves. Godric lingered in the grove until Kenna's chastising voice, Fiona's giggles and Rowena's happy replies had faded into silence.

On his return, he found that Hugh had roused his uncle's camp in his absence. Godric slipped back amongst his stirring companions unnoticed, but hadn't realised he was smiling until a red-eyed Bayard frowned at him,

'What's with the shit-eating grin?' Bayard demanded. Godric shrugged in response, his smile unforthcoming. He chose to ignore Salazar and Hamon's amused chortles as they shared a knowing look.

After the chaos of Lughnasadh, the return to Avalon was pleasantly uneventful. The squires of Avalon soon learned that Alain had agreed that his retinue would accompany Gofanon's own band of loyal followers for the first part of their journey, a decision made with the intention of bypassing the familial lands of Bellême and his half-brothers in the Marches. Salazar had groaned rudely when he'd discovered that he hadn't seen the last of the infuriating Helga. Witnessing Salazar's reaction, the young witch had determinedly pestered him throughout their journey in reprisal, much to Hamon and Godric enjoyment. They crossed the Menai and rode into the mountain vastness of Wales, leaving Ynys Mon behind them. The Holy Isle slowly disappeared in a shroud of encroaching sea mist until finally it was cloaked entirely.

They made quick progress through the labyrinth of steep hills and winding valleys which made up the Welsh landscape, magic enhancing their horses so that the beasts seemed swifter than birds in flight like the mighty steeds of folklore. Although the company remained on guard, with both Alain's retinue and Gofanon's supporters keeping watch on the swathes of wild terrain which surrounded them. Time passed swiftly and would be remembered as a jovial experience by most. The Wizengamot was discussed at length and Godric's duel was thoroughly analysed. His companions beamed with pride at the young wizard's success, causing him to maintain a blush which blended in with the scarlet cloak, pinned at his shoulder in place Rowena's gift. Gofanon's kinsmen and allies were a merry band, often breaking into songs worthy of the greatest bards, reciting tales of long lost kings and wizards of old. These heroes of bygone eras merely slept in long forgotten tombs, their magical weapons close at hand as they waited to be called upon to defend their ancestral lands. When the call came, they would rise from their slumber to march against the enemies of their people, where bright wands and gleaming swords would vanquish any who dared attempt to conquer them. This was loudly ridiculed by the warriors and wizards of Alain's retinue, who mostly hailed from Norman and English heritage. Only Godric listened intently, for the bittersweet romanticism of these tales struck a chord within his heart. However, such was the bond of friendship between Alain and Gofanon that these arguments did not turn violent, despite long embittered and volatile relationship between the Welsh and their neighbours to the East.

Yet for some, it was a noticeably less enjoyable time. The further south they went, the sourer Salazar's mood became and not even the most persistent pestering could rouse him from sudden onsets of sullenness and short temper. Ella was similarly affected, although her mood was more downcast. Godric presumed that her subdued demeanour was caused by parting from the Black heir. This was surprising, for Godric had never recalled Ella being so emotionally attached to one of her lovers. She treated her position in Avalon with the professionalism of the best tradesmen and had often been loudly scathing of whores who allowed such bonds to occur. It seemed that Black was an exception and had wormed his way into Ella's heart. Throughout their long journey, Godric had frequently caught the whore casting curious looks in his direction. She would quickly look away from him when he returned it, leaving a bemused Godric with the familiar unnerved sensation in the pit of his stomach that stirred whenever he was the subject of Ella's attention.

It was a sad hour when the time came for Gofanon and Alain to part, and for Helga to leave with her great-grandfather. Godric had grown accustomed to Helga's bubbly cheerfulness. She may have had a self-confidence which bordered upon arrogance and a cutting wit as sharp as any blade, but Godric had become rather fond of the young Welsh maiden. It was a sentiment shared by Hamon and even Salazar seemed even more downhearted that their ceaseless bickering would soon come to an end, despite his earlier protests over Helga's extended presence. Godric was sure that Helga felt the same. Lughnasadh had gifted Helga an escape from the mundanity of being the only child in a hall inhabited by ageing men. On Ynys Mon, she could embrace the freedoms of youth, and enjoy the company of others her own age. Now she would have to return to the gloom of her great-grandfather's smoke-filled hall, a spirited creature made to nurse an ailing old man and forced to wallow in solitary loneliness, surrounded by dependents who clamoured for Gofanon's favour.

All three of Avalon's squires had sensed this downcast mood descending upon Helga's countenance, which led them all to promise that they would send her messages as often as Lord Alain had a messenger hawk to spare. Helga's disposition had brightened instantly and her departing embrace had radiated gratitude, although her own fervent promise that she would castrate them if they broke their word had the young triumvirate spluttering indignant reassurances.

Once they had parted with Gofanon in the Welsh hills, Alain's retinue turned east to the banks of the Severn, where they would find a discreet ford in which to cross, away from the prying eyes of any armed patrols in the pay of the Bellême or his powerful brothers. Fortunately for them, their luck held and they passed into England without any alarm being raised.

As they rode south towards Avalon's mist-shrouded lands, Alain updated his squires on the outcomes of the meeting held during the festival's final night of feasting. For the most part, the news was encouraging. All those who had been in attendance had agreed that the rising power of Robert of Bellême and the threat posed by Melusine's return from exile and consequent accession to the leadership of an influential faction was a concerning development,

'Even Oswin Longbottom agreed,' Alain noted with a wry smile, 'and the fool's support helped Bellême claim a seat on the Wizengamot.'

'So he is already regretting the decision?' inquired Salazar.

'Maybe,' Alain shrugged, 'at least he had the decency to look sheepish about the election especially when he received a tongue-lashing from Viviana. I think Cinead regrets it, or is wary of Bellême, for he wouldn't have sent Aidan Scatter-brain to share our counsel. Although, that may just be because he wants a voice in both factions…'

'What of the others?' Godric asked curiously, eager to know who out of the great lords of the magical Britain had decided to join Alain and Gofanon's alliance.

'Some refused to get involved,' Alain admitted ruefully, 'Peredur Peverell and Oswin Longbottom decided that safeguarding their own interests was a more prosperous strategy. I can hardly blame them, for my own heart has been perturbed with doubts since Gofanon first voiced the idea of such an alliance. However, although they rebuffed any call of arms, both men did vow not to support Bellême if he ever made a bid for power. The Fae-Whisperer also decided that she would not join us, which is hardly surprising. Nolwenn has lived a peaceful existence and dedicated much of her life to exploring the mysteries of the oldest magic. She would not disrupt such pursuits, or use her influence as a prophetess for any cause which led to war.'

Salazar shrugged, looking unconcerned.

'It sounds as if you expected the outcome, Lord,' he said thoughtfully, 'although the support of the Peverell clan could have been an asset, with their rumoured connection to the King.'

'I agree,' Alain surmised with a smile, 'but we do have the support of some of the greatest lords in magical Britain and beyond. Viviana warned that even though the distance across the sea is great and her duties in Brittany may delay her from attending a call to muster, she promised that she would send young Lancel and Isobel in her place. Dewa Swift-wand willingly offered his services, Gofanon's kinsmen were a certainty and even Scatter-brain's presence may serve to bolster our cause…'

'And what of Amalric Black?' Salazar asked,

'Black's offer of support was more surprising,' Alain admitted, tactfully lowering his voice so that Ella could not hear them talk about her erstwhile lover, 'very surprising. He shared our fears of Bellême's rise to power and appeared to legitimately lament over the support his father has offered Melusine's cause. I would not be surprised if there is strife within the Black family in the years to come. Amalric Black is a very ambitious young man, who is wrestling against the reins old Ranulph has tried to tame him with. He seemed genuine enough when he swore an oath to support the rest of us…'

'You really think he is trustworthy?' Godric murmured sceptically.

'I did not say that,' Alain said, 'I doubt any Black could be considered trustworthy. They think of little but power and their own greed. Yet, it is done and he has sworn an oath on his magic that he would attend a muster if the need arose. If we distrust his motives and accuse him of falsehoods, then this alliance will falter before it has even begun.'

'What of the other families?' Salazar asked, looking concerned at the lack of prominent names mentioned. Alain's silence spoke volumes and his brow furrowed,

'We have little support from our fellow Normans,' he finally grunted, grunting in frustration, 'Norman blood is notoriously fickle. Rivals may trade pleasantries, whilst in the same moment, he was plotting their downfall. Bellême's wealth and support have bought the hearts of many Norman wizarding families, whilst the rest are too reluctant or shrewd to cast their support behind either faction before a clear victor can be distinguished.'

Alain's growing frustration with his noble compatriots was evident.

'They also envy my familiarity with the King. Rufus may not be the most inspiring of monarchs, but many of those who fault him would kill to have his ear and wield the influence which comes with being Grand-Sorcerer. Bellême is using my title against me, claiming that I have been abusing my powers by bewitching the King to support my own bid for ultimate power over the Wizengamot. Although most wizards loathe to admit it and are quick to dismiss Muggle kings as mere nuisances, it is true that whoever has the backing of a king has very powerful allies at their disposal. Rufus could provide an unlikely influence in avoiding a potential clash between the factions. Even Bellême, whose dislike for Rufus is legendary, has sworn loyalty to him.'

'Thank Merlin for that,' Godric smiled. Alain nodded, but he still frowned.

'Yes,' the Lord of Avalon murmured, 'Rufus's friendship certainly gives us an advantage on the great throw-board that is magical politics. But it also has its uncertainties. I fear that Bellême's rise to power could prove to be a threat to Rufus's kingship. He may have sworn loyalty to Rufus, but he has made no qualms about favouring the King's brother Robert, who owns Bellême's fealty in Normandy. If he was to claim power, then he could wield the full might of wizarding Britain in an attempt to oust Rufus from the throne.' Silence fell between them as Alain's squires considered the ramifications of such an event.

'As wretched as he is,' Salazar said slowly, 'surely even Bellême wouldn't dare to threaten the life of the King. Regicide is the gravest crime of all…'

'It has been done before,' Alain warned them gravely, 'I dread to think of the consequences for Britain if Rufus was overthrown. Robert is a brave and capable warlord, but he is also indecisive and lacks the ruthlessness that Rufus inherited from their father. A strong king, especially in this day and age, needs to be decisive in his judgements or it will fuel unrest amongst the magnates. If Robert was acclaimed King of England, then he would be nothing more than a puppet to Bellême's whims.'

'If Rufus dies,' Godric probed lightly, 'is there anyone else who could take the throne?'

'There are always claimants for an empty throne. The year of the Conquest has shown us that...' Alain explained, 'however, there is another. The Old King had a third son, Henry. I know little of him, for we have moved in different circles and our paths have rarely crossed. He resembles his brothers in looks, a short, dark-haired man with a barrel chest, although he doesn't share anywhere near the amount of power or influence as his siblings. Whilst the Old King gave Rufus the throne of England and Robert got Normandy, Henry received a small fortune and a few sparse swathes of lands and minor titles.'

'You think this Henry could challenge Robert for the throne?' Salazar commented sceptically, 'it seems he could barely summon the funds to oust the poorest baron from their strongholds.'

'I wouldn't underestimate Henry,' Alain warned them, 'you forget he shares the blood of the Old King. William was underestimated by many throughout his life and it cost those fools dearly. I've heard that Henry has spent the last five years forging a reputation as a warrior and leader of men. Did I not tell you about how he defeated a rebellion in Rouen?'

'I have heard of it, Lord,' Godric acknowledged, for the young wizard always had an ear for a tale of battle and heroics, 'though I did not know this Henry was involved.'

'Henry fought in support of Robert against a rebellious lord, a rare act for the brothers. The story goes that he led his men into the streets of the town and cut a bloodied path through the rebels until he had reclaimed Rouen castle in his brother's name. He then dragged the rebellions chief instigator to the tallest tower and flung the man from the battlements with his own hands. An irrational act, but Henry's rage is as terrible as his father's and his actions were justified, for the man had broken an oath and so had forfeited his life. Of course, Henry may have other motives. People will hear the story and with every retelling, it will be twisted out of all recognition. Men will learn to fear his ruthlessness as much as they feared his father and his reputation as a military leader will soon rival that of his appetites for women, which are supposed to be insatiable. There is already a brood of bastards whose mothers claim Henry fathered. This is evidence that he is virile enough to sire an heir and diminishes the chance of a succession crisis at his death. No, from what I have heard, Henry has the very making of a strong king.'

'It matters little,' Salazar mumbled shrewdly, 'the sons of the Old King are almost constantly at each other's throats. Neither Rufus nor Robert will give a contender with Henry's capabilities the opportunity to seize power.'

'Exactly,' Alain chuckled darkly, 'I can see how you outwitted the great and powerful of the Wizengamot, Salazar. Your eyes see things before they yet come to pass. Already Rufus and Robert have made efforts to curtail Henry's influence. He may not have the power to wrestle the throne from the hands of his brother. Indeed, he may not even have any designs for the kingship. But everything I have learned of Henry suggests that he is a patient man and will be content to wait for the right moment to sweep all other contenders from the throw-board.'

'Who would you support if civil strife broke out?' Salazar probed inquisitively. Alain momentarily fell silent as he contemplated an answer, stroking his greying beard.

'I'm Rufus's sworn man,' Alain sighed resolutely, a resigned smile straining his lips, 'If it comes to it and Rufus meets his end by violent means, then I doubt I'll be alive to see the aftermath.'

Godric and Salazar glanced at each other nervously. They recognised the steely resolve that simmered in Alain's voice. The Lord of Avalon would defend his King with the same dogged determination that both Godric and Salazar would adhere to if Alain was threatened. If Rufus was killed, then it would only be because Alain was not alive to stop it. Their conversation slipped into silence following this realisation and they didn't speak of politics for the rest of their journey to home.

After negotiating the hills which lay north of Glastonbury's high Tor and waiting patiently for Alain to complete the spell which beckoned for the Ferryman to grant them passage through the marsh, Alain's retinue was finally met by the comforting sight of Avalon, rising above the surrounding mystical swathes of mist and with the white castle towering over the land. Godric felt the familiar rush of awe grip his heart at the sight and he was transported into a whirlwind of memories as he remembered the first time he had seen Avalon's great keep, almost half a decade previously, with its resplendent banners flying in the cold breeze and pale lime-washed walls gleaming in the ethereal light of the Isle of Apples. He grinned at the sight as Gervais blew a welcoming call on his horn, letting Avalon's household know that Alain had returned.

Reaching the hills summit, the great gates groaned open as they crossed the threshold, where they were hailed by a clamour of shouts and cheers. The whole household had filtered out of the keep to gather in the bailey and welcome the Lord of Avalon's return. The next hours passed in a flurry of joyful greetings. A beaming Morwenna was the first to reach Alain as he dismounted and she hurled herself into his embrace. They held each other tenderly before Alain dipped his head and caught his wife's lips in a gentle kiss. They spoke quietly then parted, issuing orders for a great feast to be held.

The whole household gathered in Avalon's great hall to feast with their newly returned companions and hear news from the Wizengamot. Belin the monk and Morwenna's handmaiden Aethelflaed were there and even the solitary Yusuf had been prised away from his collections to hear what had transpired during Lughnasadh. The household amassed in the great hall and sat enraptured as Alain stood to tell the tale. They marvelled as Alain described how Salazar had held his own against some of the greatest minds in magical Britain, gasped when they discovered that Godric had accepted a trial by battle and then looked at the young wizard in awe as Alain told a generous account of the duel Godric had fought against the bloodthirsty Killer-Bjorn, much to the young wizard's flushed embarrassment at the praise and admiration he was receiving. Even Lambert seemed impressed and joined the fierce applause which followed the battles violent conclusion. Yet, the greatest cheer came when Alain revealed that justice had been achieved for Hadrian.

The only inhabitant of the hall who did not cheer at their exploits was Morwenna, who had turned increasingly pale as Alain's tale continued. The gaze she levelled at her husband when he finished recounting the events of the past week was murderous. She glared at Alain with a look that made her husband gulp and he spat out a mouthful of wine across the high table when he realised that a scathing lecture was in store. But she refrained from voicing her anger, deciding that such a tongue lashing could wait until they were in the privacy of their bedchamber. Instead, she turned to Godric and examined his face intensively, turning even paler as she traced a finger over the faint scar which was the only physical reminder of the duel he had fought.

Godric soon noticed that he wasn't the object of only Morwenna's attention. Since their return to Avalon, he had somehow acquired the attention of the household's giggling maids. These maids, who only a year before had rarely noticed Godric's presence, were now seeing the young wizard with new eyes. He was no longer Godric the bumbling youth. Now, they finally saw how broad his athletic figure was; saw how he stood taller than many of the men in Avalon and realised that Alain's youngest squire, having proved himself in battle, now possessed a sense of danger and adventure. He had fought for his life and returned the victor, killing two men in the process. Godric flushed as he saw how the maids who had once flirted with Salazar and Hamon, now batted their lashes and flashed Godric alluring smiles, competing for his attention.

It appeared that the only young maid in Avalon who wasn't clamouring for his attention was Rhyannon. Godric only caught a momentary glimpse of Salazar's lover and he frowned at what he saw. Rhyannon was sickly pale, with dark shadows framing the once bright eyes which seemed to have dimmed in their absence. She tried to approach Salazar, but the young wizard had seen her advancing through the crowd. Salazar paled and turned swiftly away, seemingly ignoring Rhyannon's presence and fleeing from her. Godric's frown deepened. Rhyannon came to a wrenching stop, her eyes widening at her lover's strange behaviour. She didn't linger long, leaving the hall soon after, her head bowed as tears slid freely down her face and her body shuddered as it was wracked with sobs. Godric looked back to where Salazar now stood talking with Hamon, his amiable demeanour having returned and Godric resolved to question Salazar about his unchivalrous conduct towards the maid who he had been besotted with before Lughnasadh.

When the night drew late and the feast was done, Alain and Morwenna withdrew to their bedchamber, the Lord of Avalon visibly wincing at the thought of the tongue lashing he would receive from his wife as a consequence of endangering his nephew. Chuckling at the sight, Godric joined Hamon and Salazar in escaping the great hall's rowdy atmosphere. Nights such as these were becoming few and far between, for as their age increased so did their duties and they spent more of their rare free time pursuing other pleasures. At Hamon's suggestion and armed with a costrel of Avalon's most potent uisce beatha, the three squires drunkenly stumbled up a flight of steep steps to the bailey's tallest tower. They settled down in the cool night's air, their backs resting against the coarse stone of the battlements whilst the alcohol loosened their tongues and they began to speak of the future.

'I love you both!' Hamon declared drunkenly,

'You're drunk Hamon,' Salazar laughed at him, 'stop talking bollocks,'

'No listen,' the tawny-haired youth continued earnestly, 'we're like brothers aren't we?'

'Yes,' confirmed Godric in amusement,

'I just wanted to make sure that you knew,' Hamon said, 'that I see you both as brothers to me. _Stop laughing Sal_ , _I'm being serious_. I guess I just wanted to say… _Sal, I mean it. If you don't stop laughing I'll throw you off this tower_ …I wanted to say that whatever happens, wherever our fates take us, I'll be your man, _your shield_ , just like my father is for Lord Alain.'

Godric and Salazar shared a fond smile, both touched by Hamon's declaration as the Muggle drunkenly continued his confession.

'We may hail from different worlds,' Hamon said, 'and that when we are all knighted and you have become masters of magic, then you may forget me. After all, I'm only a humble Muggle. But if you are ever in need, then my sword will answer the call.' Hamon suddenly hiccupped, but it didn't ruin the heartfelt meaning behind his speech or the loyalty he was swearing by. Salazar shook his head in surprise,

'Merlin's bollocks, but that was almost poetic,' he said incredulously, 'I didn't even think you could read…'

'I think we can also say,' Godric continued with a smile, 'that without a doubt, you are most definitely not humble. Besides, you're a hard man to forget Hamon, and there isn't a better warrior I'd want by my side.'

Godric was touched by Hamon's admission, so he answered with the same honesty. Hamon would be the first man he looked to in a fight, for his bravery was as great as any and his skill with weapons, especially the lance, was only surpassed by Godric and a few of the men in Avalon. If Merlin blessed him, then he'd be a formidable knight and Godric would count himself lucky not to be on an opposing side of the battlefield when Hamon marched to war.

'Uh, we're emotional drunks,' Salazar mumbled in disgust. Godric ignored him, turning to face a surprisingly subdued Hamon,

'What brought this on?'

'I'm not sure,' Hamon shrugged, 'I think it was seeing those slaves. Especially the chained and disease-ridden Muggles amongst them. Seeing how some wizards treated people like me. How they ignored me as if my existence was of no importance.'

'Not all wizards think like that,' Godric assured him gently and Salazar nodded his agreement.

'I know,' said Hamon quickly, 'and I know how fortunate I am. But I'm still bastard born. I only bear the FitzHugh name because my father acknowledged me as his son. I don't even know who my mother is and I'm sure my father will never tell me. He never talks about her. Yet still, even as a motherless bastard, I have been fortunate. One day, I will be knighted and hopefully, I will become the castellan of a great castle like my father before me. Hell, I may even rule my own. Then I'll take Ella as a wife, surround myself with the brood of children she'll give me until I'm an old man and no longer of use to anybody…'

'Ella?' Salazar spluttered, wiping the tendrils of spilt drink from his lips, 'she's almost twice your age!'

'She's still a magnificent woman,' Hamon said firmly, looking star struck 'I'm in love with her.'

Salazar laughed aloud until he realised Hamon was scowling at him.

'You love everybody Hamon,' Salazar waved his hand dismissively, but as the silence continued, the young wizard's expression soon became incredulous, 'surely you jest?'

'I meant it, Sal,' Hamon said earnestly, 'I love that woman like no other,'

'She's a whore, you fool,' Salazar said, 'even if you speak the truth, do you think that when you bedded her she reciprocated your feelings? Are you that naïve Hamon?'

'She probably didn't,' Hamon admitted, frowning, 'but I know she felt a bond beyond her usual companionship. She told me that I had stirred feelings she had never felt before…'

'Again, she's a whore. She tells everyone that,' muttered Salazar doubtfully, although he looked rather disgruntled, 'it's Ella's way of encouraging more custom…'

'Why are you so against this,' Hamon suddenly snapped, his anger fuelled by drunkenness. He pointed an accusing finger at his friend, 'you love her too, don't you?'

'You're talking shit,' Salazar retorted disdainfully. It looked as if a heated argument was going to break out between the two friends, but Godric was there to calm the situation.

'Peace,' Godric ordered, holding up his hand, 'Hamon, go back to your drink. Sal wouldn't pursue Ella, we all know it. Salazar, hold your tongue. You know as well as I do that it must have taken Hamon a lot of courage to tell us this, so do not ridicule him. Do you remember how much ale you had to drink in order to tell us about Rhyannon? If Ella is his choice, then I'll support him to ensure that this future of his does come to pass.'

'Sorry,' the two arguing friends eventually mumbled sullenly, whilst Salazar looked very disgruntled at the mention of Rhyannon's name. They glanced at each other before a smirk broke across both their faces and soon the trio were laughing again. However, they did not stop their talk of what they hoped the future held and Godric was soon cursing as the focus of an eager inquisition shifted to him,

'So, what do you hope the future holds, Godric?' Salazar probed curiously,

Godric shrugged,

'Come on,' Hamon cried out. He smirked when Godric was still unforthcoming, 'let us guess then. You want adventure…'

'…honour…' continued Salazar,

'…and to become the greatest, most noble knight that has ever lived!' They both finished in unison, laughing uproariously.

'That would be nice,' Godric chuckled, 'I do want to be the best knight I can be. I've dreamed of little else since I was a child, to grow up and become the greatest warrior I can be!'

'A _prudhomme_?' Salazar asked,

'A what?' Godric said dumbly,

'A _prudhomme_ ,' Salazar told him, 'an ideal warrior.'

'Then that is what I will be,' Godric promised earnestly, 'an ideal warrior…the greatest knight.' He liked the sound of that; of being the greatest fae-knight to wield both a sword and wand in Britain. At just fifteen, he had already fought in two battles and survived. He had begun to yearn for the familiar sensation of adrenaline to flood through his veins when he fought until it seized his heart as he fought. Hadrian had told him once about how the young find the prospect of battle exciting and live for the moment that they wield a blade in their hands and their blood pulses with the power that comes with defeating an enemy. It was a dangerous sensation and one which often got many young warriors killed. But there was no evading it. Only age or death could temper the emotion and those who become paladins of battle, like Alain, Hugh and even Robert of Bellême, didn't simply fight for the sake of it but lived for the thrill of a deadly contest.

'He wants to be a hero like in the old songs,' Salazar concluded drolly, rolling his eyes in amusement.

'Is that all your future holds?' Hamon inquired dubiously, 'just battle and renown?'

'No,' Godric sighed, remembering the vision of the bloodied spectre which had startled him awake before his duel. He took another gulp of the vile concoction in his hand, 'I'd be no better than Bellême if all I lived for was bloodshed. What I really want is to return to Black-Hollow and see my people again. I have a half-sister that I do not know and a burning desire to prove to my father that he was wrong about me. Prove to him that I am a man he can be proud of…'

'Surely he'd be proud of you?' Hamon asked disbelievingly, 'especially after all your achievements?'

'No,' Godric sighed sadly, 'I don't think he'd be proud. All my accomplishments involve magic, which my father both detests as the work of the devil and greatly distrusts. Only when I have gained my knighthood will I confront my father, though I have little hope that I will be well received…'

'If your father disinherits you because you are a wizard,' Salazar told his young friend firmly, 'then he does not deserve you.' Hamon nodded in agreement. Godric looked at his friends and smiled his thanks. If he was disinherited from his father's family, then he knew could always seek shelter with his friends in Avalon.

'Other than that,' Godric continued thoughtfully, 'I suppose that like Hamon, I would like a family one day. A spirited wife and children I can love as a father should. Then, when I am in my dotage, I will hang up my sword and enjoy my remaining days in peace…'

'Bugger peace,' Hamon chuckled, 'getting sordid details about your filthy desires is more difficult than drawing blood from a stone. Tell us more about this spirited woman you want to marry?'

'Let us think,' Salazar said mockingly, stroking his jaw as he pretended to contemplate the answer as if it was a difficult riddle, 'by any chance, does she have raven hair, dark eyes and a father who thinks the sun shines out of your arse?'

Hamon and Salazar laughed heartily as Godric blushed brightly at the blatant reference to Rowena and threw the costrel at Salazar's head, who evaded it easily. When the laughter finally subsided, it was Salazar's turn to be drunkenly interrogated.

'Bastard,' Godric grumbled, 'what about you then? What does the future hold for Salazar Slytherin?'

'I can't believe you both are so willing to have children,' Salazar said, shaking his head as if his friends had just admitted to something foolish.

'You don't?'

'Merlin no,' Salazar muttered fiercely, 'why would I waste my youth raising a family. I want to travel the world, explore the most ancient magical traditions of our world and become a great lord amongst wizards. Only then will I consider seeking a wife; someone of magical ancestry to ensure that the blood of Slytherin remains as pure as that of my forefathers.'

'So you wouldn't marry for love?' Hamon asked disbelievingly,

'Nope,' countered Salazar dismissively, 'what use is marrying for love? Does it gain you influence or power? I want to be the greatest wizard I can be, worthy of my family name. For as long as I have been his squire, I have admired Lord Alain. When I was orphaned and scraped a living along the filth-ridden banks of the Thames, I made a promise to myself. I promised that in the years to come, I would learn to wield the magic and influence of a great lord. Our time on Ynys Mon has only reinforced this desire. I hope to ascend to a Wizengamot which is in desperate need of young blood. Britain is changing, shifting from the old ways to the new. I could help steer wizards into a new era and free our world from the internal disputes which continue to blight our world.'

Godric and Hamon stared at their friend. They had always known that Salazar was ambitious. Of the three of them, it was Salazar who was expected to rise highest; the purity of his blood, his charming nature, handsome looks and fierce intellect, all aiding him in achieving remarkable success. Proving himself the equal of the greatest wizards at the Wizengamot had merely secured what Hamon and Godric had long ago realised. But the desires which Salazar had just voiced outstripped any expectation his friends had held about the young wizard's ambitious nature. To seek to heal the fractures which divided magical Britain seemed like an insurmountable task and a very selfless ambition.

'I know of a young maid who may find that difficult to accept,' Hamon smirked. Salazar didn't reply, although Godric noticed that he flinched before grimacing slightly. Godric made a mental note to investigate this strange behaviour further when he had sobered and was free of the mind-numbing influence of alcohol.

'You want to be Lord of Avalon?' Godric inquired quietly,

'Don't you?' Salazar replied, almost defiantly as he turned to stare at Godric,

'No,' Godric said after only a brief moment's contemplation, 'I've seen the strain that being the Lord of Avalon has put on my uncle. Too much responsibility comes with that title. I'd be happy settling for just being a fae-knight.'

Something flashed within Salazar's eyes. To Godric, he looked remarkably like relief.

'You'd be wasted as just a fae-knight,' Salazar said,

'What of this Order of Merlin then?' Hamon asked thoughtfully, 'that band of wizards that Helga said her brother was sworn too.'

'Maybe,' Godric shrugged noncommittedly, but couldn't resist smiling. Being allowed to join such a prestigious group was certainly desirable, although Godric doubted he had the talent to equal a lauded wizard like Helga's brother Rhodri and those other paladins of his ilk, 'but I've already suffered enough from your questions. Tell us more of this desire to become the Lord of Avalon, Sal?'

'Yes,' Salazar admitted sheepishly, 'when Avalon needs a new ruler, I plan to face the trials.' Godric shared another look with Hamon, before they both turned to face a visibly nervous Salazar, who seemed hesitant to face their reaction. Then they broke into wide grins, silently assuring the wizard that they would pledge their support to his claim when such a time came.

'Do you think we'll ever leave Avalon?' Hamon asked sombrely. His voice was laced with a poignant nervousness. Adulthood was no longer a distant horizon and the trio knew they were steering towards it as swiftly as the fastest falcon. It wouldn't be long before fate called for the three young men to depart from the sanctuary of Avalon's walls and seek their own fortunes.

'Most likely,' Godric smiled sadly, 'but I see no reason to fear. As long as Alain is the Lord of Avalon and Salazar after him, then it will always be here if we need it.'

'Besides,' perked up Salazar, 'do you think Lady Morwenna would crucify us if we robbed her of the chance to mother us or our children…'

'Aye,' chuckled Hamon as he took a burning swig from the costrel, 'that's true enough.'

'I agree with you, Hamon,' Salazar said quietly, rubbing his hand across the tower's gleaming stone, 'I don't want to leave this place. I have often thought that I'd like to die here…to be laid to rest in the company of some of the greatest of my kind. To lay for eternity in these blissful grounds.'

They fell into silence, each one of them contemplating what the unknowable future held. Then Godric's eyes suddenly lit up, his mind racing as an idea stirred to fruition.

'We are brothers!' he suddenly declared loudly. His two friends looked at him oddly,

'Godric's had too much,' Hamon whispered loudly,

'We are brothers,' Godric repeated, beaming at them both.

'What are you talking about?' Salazar asked, frowning at Godric's drunken assertion. The young wizards smile didn't waver.

'We are brothers in all but blood,' Godric grinned, then swiftly drew the eating knife from its sheath at his belt and sliced the blade across his open palm, showering his astonished friends in a spurt of blood.

'Jesus,' Hamon yelled out in surprise, wiping the blood from his face.

'Godric,' Salazar growled incredulously, staring in disgust at his blood-stained tunic before turning to glare at his still grinning friend, 'what in Merlin's name are you doing?'

'Swearing an oath,' Godric said earnestly, gesturing at his bleeding hand, 'a blood-oath! To bind us in blood as sworn-brothers for life. Here…' he tried to pass the knife to Salazar, who leant away from it in revulsion.

'Are you mad?' he yelped, making no attempt to take the bloodied blade from Godric. Surprisingly, it was prised away from Godric by Hamon. The Muggle stared at the knife in silence, before suddenly running the knife across his own hand. The gore-stained blade gleamed in the ethereal moonlight as Godric and Hamon's blood mingled upon the cold steel. Hamon grinned and clasped his bleeding hand to Godric's own. They both turned to look expectantly at Salazar, who seemed dumbfounded by their strange behaviour.

'Come on,' Godric urged him,

'Cowards don't become the Lord of Avalon, Sal,' Hamon heckled, smirking as Salazar scowled at the remark,

'Fools who willingly cut themselves open make good corpses,' Salazar grumbled as he sighed loudly and reached over to grasp the knife, 'if any of you have leprosy then I'll hex you so badly!'

Salazar hissed and cursed as he closed his eyes and followed their example, his blood streaming from his palm. He leant forwards and placed his blood-stained hand over those of his friends, unable to hide an exasperated smile as his blood quickly mixed with that of his friends, 'what do we do now?'

'We swear an oath,' Hamon said as if it was obvious,

'I know that you idiot,' Salazar groaned, 'what are we supposed to say?'

'How am I supposed to know?'

'I swear,' Godric said enthusiastically, interrupting their ceaseless bickering and leading the way. It mattered little what words he said, for the sentiment was the same, 'on my blood and honour that I will uphold this oath we share…'

'…through the years to come,' continued Hamon with a grin, 'through all trials and tribulations…'

'…we shall be bonded by this oath,' concluded Salazar, his own smile spreading, 'brothers in blood, for the rest of our days.' They held their hands clasped together for a heartbeat before parting as sworn brothers.

'That was less dramatic than I thought it would be.'

'What did you think would happen? That tendrils of magic would appear to bind us together?' Salazar laughed, whilst Hamon simply shrugged.

'Pretty much,'

'It doesn't matter,' Godric replied, 'it was old magic. The discreet magic of the Ancients. It's as powerful as any spell conjured by the mightiest wizard of our time…'

'Did you make that up?' Salazar asked suspiciously,

'Maybe,' Godric said sheepishly, but despite this, he was sure that he had spoken the truth. They had just conjured magic as old as time and there could be no forging of such a powerful ritual.

The two wizards quickly healed their wounds with magic. Laughing at their own youthful exuberance, they sat back to finish the last dregs. Lambert's fury that they had consumed one of his precious costrels of expensive uisce beatha would be terrible to encounter and they could expect the next day's duties to be a horrific experience of curses, soreheads and nauseating retching. Yet, they neither cared nor feared Lambert's retribution, for they had just sworn a blood-oath to be brothers for the rest of their lives and at that moment, they felt invincible.

As his friends continued to drunkenly laugh and bicker, Godric was content to remain silent. He knew that his time at Ynys Mon had changed him. It had changed them all. Hamon had accepted his fate as a follower, and seeing first-hand the dangers his friends' faced as the apprentices of the Lord of Avalon, he was willing to give both his sword and his life to protect them as a shield-bearer. Salazar now walked with a confidence born from the knowledge that he could hold his own against some of the most esteemed politicians and orators of magical Britain. Before Lughnasadh, Godric had been comforted by the security afforded to them by Avalon's ancient wards and his uncle's protection. The ambush in which Hadrian had died had cracked this once impregnable image, but Godric had taken solace from his status as an apprentice to the Lord of Avalon and his uncle's reputation as both an admired and feared warrior.

The events on Ynys Mon had now permanently shattered this illusion. Alain was a noble wizard and a good liege lord, but he was just a mortal man and thus his power and influence had their limitations. Whilst he cared deeply for Godric's well-being, Alain could not promise that his protection would be enough to safeguard his squires from danger. Godric had experienced this revelation first-hand. It had been Godric who had been forced to defend both his honour and his life and in doing so, he had learned an invaluable lesson. To survive in this brutal and dangerous world, Godric would have to throw aside the timidity which had tormented his childhood and trust in his own instincts, relying on the skills which Alain and Hugh had spent years drilling into him and which his own determined drive had sought to master. He would need them when the encroaching storm descended.

Despite this, there were rays of light in the growing darkness. Lughnasadh had gifted him the chance to branch out from Avalon's sheltered household and interact with other wizards and witches whose support and friendship may prove vital in the uncertain years to come. The faces of Rowena, Helga and many others flashed through his mind as Godric remembered Gofanon asserting that they were the future of magical Britain. Godric was wise enough to know that they would need all the allies they could muster in the face of the rising power of the faction led by the she-wolf Melusine and the monstrous Bellême. He had been exposed to the violent extent his enemies would go to assure Alain's destruction, even at the cost of a young man's life.

Godric had been forced to fight and had taken another man's life. The guilt which had haunted him following his first kill, although still a burden upon his heart, had long since faded and he had barely felt the twinge of regret over Killer-Bjorn's demise. He did not know the reason for such a stark change but presumed that it was because the knowledge that Killer-Bjorn had actively plotted to end Godric's life, combined with becoming accustomed to the duty of a fae-knight to defend the honour of their lord. Even if it was at the expense of a life.

Pulling out of his internal reverie, Godric felt his smile widening as he watched his friends conversed jovially. He had lost a brother before. Stoic and well-meaning William, his childhood idol but who had been cruelly taken from him when Godric needed a protector the most. Then he had come to Avalon, an otherworldly place which had performed what the followers of Christianity would profess to be a miracle, blessing him with the loyalty of two companions who were now brothers in blood. Whatever challenges they encountered in the near future, with their blood tied by a sworn oath of brotherhood, Godric was certain they would face them together.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One: Revelations

**Revelations**

Those months leading up to Samhain were some of the most memorable Godric had experienced in his time at Avalon. Whilst storm clouds brewed outside the white castle, they seemed to linger on a distant horizon which was too far removed to pierce the bliss that permeated and surrounded the sacred island.

There was little time for rest. Godric may have impressed many when he had outfought Killer-Bjorn, but Hugh was a notoriously hard taskmaster. He spent a full morning with Godric as they analysed the young wizard's duel and pointed out his gravest mistakes. Avalon's castellan soon concluded that although Godric had mastered much of what he had been taught, there was still much room for improvement. As a result, Godric was placed under the strictest regime which focused on his dual-wielding capabilities, the exertion leaving his body aching and bruised long after he'd completed his exercises. Yet, as he had done ever since his arrival at Avalon when it came to marital training, Godric learned quickly and his progress was swift, so that by Samhain's arrival, even the most hardened veterans of Alain's retinue were reluctant to cross wands or swords with him.

Godric's duties were not just confined to Avalon's tiltyard and it didn't take him long to notice that the intensity of his studies had increased also. Yusuf had initially been pleasantly surprised by the tale of Godric's use of magic and intrigued by the spell the young wizard had used to conjure the shield-bearer to protect him. Sadly, it didn't take long for their relationship to descend into Yusuf's familiar frustration with Godric's habit of daydreaming during his lessons. The young wizard had no such issue with his lessons with Morwenna. The concern the Lady of Avalon had felt over what had transpired at the Wizengamot was great, and it had encouraged the water-nymph to switch from the histories of wizarding cultures to whatever she could tell them of the prominent magical families who held proficient power in Britain. Her main focus was on those who were currently manoeuvring against her husband, who she recognised as posing a threat to Avalon. Many hours were spent in the shade of Avalon's groves and orchards, improving Godric's ignorance and Salazar's already extensive understanding of these wizarding families and the history of their ancestors.

More hours were spent practicing their spell work under Alain's strict tutelage. With the King preparing for a campaign in Normandy, the Lord of Avalon was freed of his royal duties until called upon. He spent his time drilling his apprentices in a wide-range of enchantments, whilst also expanding his apprentices' understanding of the magical practice called the dark arts. When it came to the dark arts, Salazar and Godric were not ignorant. Over the years, they had spent many hours studying these evil and malicious practices, but they still had much to learn about the very nature of such magic. With Yusuf's help, a wizard who had explored the dark arts in all its forms and within many of the cultures which inhabited the known world, the wise lectured the young about the darkest of these magical practices.

There was little that could be compared to the temptation of the dark arts. It was thought that their use soured the hearts of men and tore their souls to ruin, twisting and manipulating a wizard beyond all recognition. The use of these curses was frowned upon, but not uncommon, with even the purest of wizards understanding the necessity of using such spells in the heat of battle. Many diseases can be cured and wounds healed by magic, but those gained by dark curses or rituals may never fully heal. Alain had smiled and patted the leg which Bellême had wounded by using a spell of undeniably dark origins and which had rendered the Lord of Avalon with a limp ever since. Only those practices which delved into the pursuit of immortality or which disturbed the dead were punishable by exile or death.

However, there were those who embraced the dark arts for malicious purposes. Lady Melusine was one proficient in such magic, having used it to murder her estranged father's family. Her subsequent exile had been due to the severity of her crimes, not the actual spells and magic used. Her former apprentice Mabel was infamous for her sadistic pleasure in the dark arts, whilst there were many rumours which spoke of Bellême's sadism and the cruel spells he wielded against unfortunate victims in the secretive gloom of the dungeons and pits chiselled deep beneath his strongholds. However, Yusuf, whose knowledge of such things far exceeded any others, admitted that their wicked deeds paled in significance compared to the actions of the notorious dark lords whose existence stained the history of the magical world.

These were the wizards and witches who embraced magic of the darkest nature. Mages such as The Queen of Ghosts, Medea, Hilda and the Necromancer of Rome had wielded the dark arts so severely that they would be remembered for all eternity as villains of the peace. Yusuf went on to explain that the darkest of all these dark lords had been born in Greece in the time of gods and heroes. Herpo the Foul, the darkest of wizards, whose evil practices were so renowned that the mere whisper of his name had been enough to make even the bravest wizards shiver. It was rumoured that Herpo was responsible for the most immoral crimes, although records were vague and no scroll had survived the winds of time which described the nature of this great evil. The followers of his teachings called themselves the Pupils of Herpo, and according to legend, those who practiced under Herpo's tutelage could be recognised by their strange, yellow coloured eyes, a consequence of pursuing such dark magic. It was believed that the evil in which Merlin had waged war centuries ago were somehow linked to these foul followers. The practices and teachings of Herpo the Foul had been outlawed by the Order of Merlin since its foundation.

Godric was unnerved by the cruel purposes the dark arts had been used for. In contrast, Salazar's eyes burned with a curiosity laced with unease.

'I believe,' Alain said, staring sternly at the young wizards, 'that you have experienced such dark magic before. Morwenna informed me of your little venture into the caves below Avalon and how you encountered the foul creatures and vile spells Nimue left there…'

Both Salazar and Godric were shamefaced. They had suspected that Alain was aware of their adventure into Merlin's caves, but before now, the Lord of Avalon had never acknowledged it, deeming such an experience cause enough to deter any further exploration.

'Yes, Lord,' Salazar admitted sheepishly,

'Good,' Alain suddenly said, smiling ruefully, 'then the foundations for these lessons have been laid already. I have also witnessed the wicked spells Nimue used to corrupt a place of such natural beauty, although I suspect that in your ignorance you ventured further than I ever dared to go. I've seen many ways of wielding the dark arts during the wars I've fought; I have even used them myself. It is advisable to witness the true extent of such magic, for only when you have seen the consequences of using the dark arts will it deter you from giving your hearts to it.' It was a solemn lesson and one which Salazar and Godric would remember for a very long time.

There were some things that did not change. The three squires spent the remainder of the time allotted to them completing their routine duties, overseen by the meticulous Lambert. There was always armour or weapons to polish, food stores to sort and stables to clean and the steward's tyrannical rule over them meant that moments of restful peace were a rare occurrence.

During these months and heavily influenced by their competitive relationship, the three squires decided to make a collaborative effort to grow beards. Considering he was the youngest of them, it came as a surprise when they soon discovered that it was Godric who was the most capable of this feat. When he allowed it to grow, his beard was full and as red as his flaming hair. It lent him a maturity which surpassed his sixteen years and drew many coy remarks from Avalon's maids. However, remembering Edwin the Firebrand's ridiculous beard during the Wizengamot, Godric made sure he shaved it regularly. Salazar's beard, as dark as his hair, whilst not as full as Godric's, was still a mark of manhood in which to be proud. Like Godric, he often shaved it, not because he feared ridicule for the beard added to his regal countenance, but because it irritated his skin and inflamed his complexion, which was a crime in the eyes of Salazar's sanity.

Unfortunately, when it came to beards, misfortune had befallen Hamon. He could not grow a beard at all, no matter how many potions he tried or balms he soaked his skin with. Hair simply refused to grow at his jaw and he became the butt of ruthless jeering from his friends. Even the rest of Alain's retinue joined in, although this came to a swift end when Bayard foolishly suggested that even Isolde could grow a fuller moustache than Hamon. An incredulous Isolde hexed him so severely that Bayard could not sit without a feathered cushion for a week. It fell to Ella to finally appease the shame Hamon felt by generously commenting that Hamon had no need for such a mark, as he made up for any lack of a beard by other mighty means. After this testament, Hamon didn't stop grinning for many days.

What was stranger than Hamon's inability to grow a beard was Salazar's uncharacteristically cold behaviour towards Rhyannon. Since their return, Godric had noticed that the young maid appeared to be a pale shadow of her former self. She had a sickly complexion and could often be found wandering the halls at night, her sleep disturbed by some unknown ailment. Hamon had almost screamed when he had wandered across her late one evening, mistaking her for a nightly spirit which was assumed to haunt Avalon. Godric also heard rumours that her adeptness at completing the tasks allocated to serving maids was suffering, to the extent that Morwenna had issued a warning that if this behaviour continued then she would have to leave Alain's keep and return to her family's impoverished home amongst the marshes.

When he had slipped to the kitchens in search of a light meal, Godric had found Rhyannon dozing in the warmth beside the large braziers and after apologising for startling her awake, he broached the topic of this mysterious ailment. But the maid, who had looked desperate to escape when Godric approached, broke into a flood of tears at his kind-hearted questioning and fled the kitchens, leaving him dumbfounded. This prompted Godric to summon the courage to voice his concerns to Salazar, who merely scoffed, dismissing his apprehension and assuring Godric that he would talk with Rhyannon in the hope to discover what ailed her.

Godric suspected that Salazar was lying to him, as he appeared reluctant to follow Godric's advice and as the days went by, it didn't seem like Salazar had spoken to his lover since their heated disagreement on the morning they had set out for Ynys Mon. When he had voiced his suspicions to Hamon, he discovered that his tawny-haired friend had also raised his concerns with Salazar and been similarly dismissed. There was little Godric and Hamon could do to change this. Salazar was notoriously tight-lipped when it came to his privacy, hoarding secrets and fears to himself rather than unloading his problems onto the shoulders of those who could help bear the burden.

However, Avalon was only an island and its boundaries were not limitless. Not even someone as slippery as Salazar could escape from Rhyannon forever. It was a warm autumn's day when she finally seized the opportunity to confront Salazar, who had joined Godric in tending to the prized horses stabled in Avalon's bailey. They were a collection of proud beasts, a fine example of Gervais's talents as a horse-breeder. After cleaning the stables with their wands, they set about tending to their charges, palfreys and mighty destriers, brushing shining coats and repairing worn equipment, all to a chorus of squawks from Alain's falcons and howls from his hounds.

'Why are you ignoring me?'

It was said quietly, yet the voice seemed to echo across the stable and punctured the contented atmosphere around them. The stables darkened as a figure blocked out the light which seeped through the entrance and cast them into shadow.

'Rhyannon?' Salazar stuttered awkwardly. His eyes were wide and he seemed ready to bolt in panic,

'Yes, _lover,_ ' Rhyannon said coldly, stepping stridently into the stables. Godric marvelled at how the toll of this past month had marked her. She almost looked wraithlike, except that her eyes burned with a simmering fire as she paced slowly towards a rapidly paling Salazar, 'you have nowhere to flee, so you will answer me. Why have you been ignoring me?'

Godric was gaping at the scene. He had never heard Rhyannon speak like this. Growing up, she had always been a sweet, mild-mannered girl and Godric thought that whatever Salazar had have done to raise such anger in the maid must have been grave indeed. Salazar resembled a hare which had just been startled by a nearby hunting call.

'I'm not,' the young wizard practically yelped, although his protests sounded weak even to his own ears. He refused to meet her eyes.

'Then why do you ignore me?' Rhyannon snapped, 'why do you seek to put distance between us? Why do you treat me like some diseased leper?'

Salazar didn't reply. Instead, he turned to where Godric stood,

'Godric,' he stammered, 'will you leave us…'

'No,' Rhyannon suddenly spat and Godric, who had been prepared to leave, immediately stalled in the face of her fury, 'let him stay!'

'Rhyannon,' Salazar said beseechingly, 'please think clearly…'

'Think clearly?' she hissed, her eyes blazing, 'I have done nothing but _think_ since you went gallivanting away to this wizard's festival. Do you _think_ this is something you can ignore?'

'Godric has no business here…' Salazar tried to argue vainly,

'I said he could stay,' Rhyannon thundered, 'let him see what a miserable creature you are. I no longer care if he knows that you have...'

'Rhyannon,' Salazar cried, gesturing wildly as he attempted to halt the tide of her vitriol, hastily trying to get her to lower her voice,

'Do not hush me,' Rhyannon snarled fiercely, 'how dare you! Do you think I am a fool?'

'Of course not,'

'But you do,' the maid interrupted, a sob escaping her, 'you think I'm a fool and maybe I am. Maybe I am just a foolish girl for believing your pretty words were said out of affection, for believing your lies. I should have left you with your _mirrors_! I know you've bedded other women, I have…heard that this is the way young nobles treat simple serving maids…but I didn't…I thought…' she paused her tirade as another choked sob escaped her, tears now flooding down her alabaster skin. Salazar gestured wordlessly, seemingly helpless before again turning to Godric,

'Godric,' he begged, 'please…' Unsure, Godric remained where he was. However, any thought of leaving was swiftly dispelled when Rhyannon again shrieked at him to stay where he was.

'Why?' Salazar suddenly erupted, his own frustrations finally breaking loose. A horse snorted its discomfort, becoming skittish at the tension permeating the air around them and Alain's priceless falcons fluttered in irritation. Godric could understand how they felt as he shifted awkwardly, yet still being unable to take his eyes off the scene playing out before him, 'why do you insist that he stays? Why do you want to announce our secrets to the world?'

'Let him stay,' she spat back, 'let him hear. I am past caring now. Besides, Godric is an honourable man and I trust him to hold his tongue. He's not like you, Salazar…'

'What?' Salazar hissed softly, paling further as his eyes began to burn with the same fire that was reflected in his lovers, 'please enlighten me, _my love_ , as to why we are so different?'

'Godric does not lie,' Rhyannon cried, 'Godric does not take something just because he can. But you do. You have taken everything from me. You were born with a silver-tongue Salazar, one which suits the serpents you speak with. You treated me ill and your friends should know.'

'So you'd have everyone in Avalon know?' Salazar snapped indignantly, 'do you realise what is at stake here?'

'I know what's at stake. Not only my own reputation but that of my family and the Lord and Lady who have given me everything and treated me so well...'

'You'll be forced to leave the castle,' Salazar told her contemptuously, 'you'll have to return to that hovel in the marshes in shame, penniless and with no prospects! What do you think of that future?'

'I was just some common marsh girl to you, wasn't I?' Rhyannon gasped, incredulously, hurt flashing across her face, 'a pretty face to stoke your ego. A meaningless _fuck_ so you could master your pleasure and hone your skills for later conquests.'

'Did you really think anything else,' Salazar chuckled, his anger making him cruel, 'oh what a naïve little girl you are. Did you really think I'd take you for a wife? You really are simpler than I thought if you truly believed you'd one day be known as Lady Slytherin.'

'Salazar,' Godric tried to interrupt, shocked at the biting spite of his friend's temper and desperately trying to alert him to the hurt he blindly caused. Godric's voice went unheard. Tears streamed unchecked from Rhyannon's eyes as she desperately tried to cover up the fresh fracture in her heart.

'You bastard!' she wept gently, 'you said that you'd never hold those fears against me…you…you utter bastard…'

'Pathetic,' Salazar scoffed, heedless of his lover's tears, 'now do you see your folly? Can you see the dangers of so willingly acquiring such a reputation?'

'What reputation is that?' Rhyannon snarled suddenly, her anger overriding her grief voice and with blazing eyes that him to say it,

'So that everyone knows,' Salazar said slowly, elaborating every word, whilst a disdainful sneer marring his handsome features, 'what a little _whore_ you really are!'

Silence abruptly fell over the stables and Rhyannon looked as if she'd been struck. Then her hand shot out, so quick that Godric could barely follow it and struck him hard across the face. Salazar flinched at the stinging blow and he stumbled backwards, his eyes widening in shock. But Rhyannon was not finished and she wielded her next words like a sword.

'Such a cold heart you have Salazar,' she said stonily, 'but I am not surprised that you possess one. After all, what kind of a soulless creature watches on as his own mother screams and burns in the devils fire? Without even lifting a finger to help?'

If Salazar had been pale before, now he resembled a corpse brought to life as his blood slowly drained from his face. For a heartbeat, he remained motionless, merely staring at his erstwhile lover in absolute disbelief. He had unburdened that guilt in secret whilst they lay exhausted from their lovemaking, clasped in a tender embrace. The night his family had been killed was Salazar's most wretched memory and he could again hear his mother's agonised screams amongst the crackling fire as the blaze consumed his family. For an instant, it seemed like Salazar's pale eyes reflected the same flames which had engulfed his mother that fateful night.

Salazar's face contorted with rage and pain. Then he let out a feral snarl and surged forward, his hand pulling back as he prepared to strike out, determined to wipe that tenacious glare from the girl's face. Rhyannon cried out in fear, a crippling horror dawning on her as Salazar charged and she closed her eyes, turning aside from the blow which threatened her.

'SALAZAR,' Godric suddenly barked, his voice ringing with authority. It went unheard by Salazar, for as his flailing hands reached his unfortunate lover there was a mighty bang. Salazar was thrown back, landing in an undignified heap. Covered in fresh straw, Salazar scrambled to his feet and drew his wand, rage clouding his mind. The furious wizard sent a spell hurtling towards Godric, but his younger friend expected it. Godric deflected the spell and sent the fizzing bolt of magic careering into a pile of straw which immediately erupted into purple flames as Rhyannon shrieked in terror, believing that her lover had gone mad. Godric ignored it, his attention solely on Salazar as he retaliated with a disarming spell. The power behind it was great, for it not only tore Salazar's wand from his hand but also threw him from his feet.

Salazar picked himself up quickly and rushed at Godric, but his chances of overpowering the young wizard were slim and a strong hand flung him back, his path to the source of his fury impeded by Godric. Rhyannon cowered behind Godric's back, her eyes screwed tightly shut as she whimpered in fear.

'Get out of my way,' Salazar roared, his nostrils flaring and looking wild.

'Don't act rashly,' Godric shot back, seeking reason. Salazar ignored him again, lunging forward in a desperate attempt to reach the cowering maid but one which was hampered by Godric. A shove forced Salazar back, his lean frame proving no match for Godric's broad bulk. Salazar lurched to a stop, breathing hard as he stared at his friend in furious betrayal.

'I said get out of my way, mud…'

'If you strike her,' Godric growled, his anger rising with his voice and interrupting his friend's ill-chosen words, 'then I'll strike you back harder, and I'll make sure you don't get up!'

Godric's voice finally seemed to puncture Salazar's rage. The older squire's eyes narrowed at Godric's implied threat, but he did not attempt another scuffle. Something in Godric's voice told him that it would be extremely foolish to try because the younger man's tone was chilling and Salazar saw a wild glint in his friend's emerald gaze, a glimmer of fury that he had only confronted once and had no wish to do so again. This glower promised instant retribution if Salazar tried to touch Rhyannon. As he forcibly tried to master his temper, he realised that his young friend was trying to leash his own.

Godric's heart seemed to hammer within his head. The memory of his mother's blood spraying across a shield emblazoned with a rampant gold lion flashed through his eyes and her shrieks for mercy as his father beat her terribly reverberated within his ears. Godric had been too young and too weak to intervene in those dark days. But he had sworn that when he was older, he'd never allow the same to happen to any woman if it was within his power to stop it. The image of his mother's bruised and battered face had spurred the young wizard into action and stirred the roaring beast which clamoured in his beating heart.

With a visible effort, Godric was able to subdue the tempest of emotions. He gazed at Salazar, unconcerned with the furious scowl his friend was giving him.

'Are you calm?' Godric asked sternly. Salazar nodded stiffly, although his anger had yet to be fully restrained. He vented his rage by vehemently kicking out at a nearby hound, making it yelp in fright and scramble quickly away. Ignoring him, Godric turned to comfort the cowering maid behind him. But Rhyannon was gone, having fled from the stables in silence, intent on escaping from her maddened lover before more violence was threatened. Sighing, Godric turned back to his friend.

'Why did you intervene?' Salazar snarled, his hands clenched,

'Do you really need to ask?'

'She had it coming!' Salazar muttered mulishly.

'That doesn't excuse your intent,' Godric growled, 'Many men beat their wives. They think it enforces obedience when it only breeds resentment and brings attention to the very weakness they are trying to hide. What honour can come from beating someone who cannot hope to defend themselves? Just because some men do it does not make it right.'

'Spare me the sermon Godric,' Salazar snapped, 'you're not a saint!'

'I've never tried to be…'

'DON'T,' Salazar spat, ignoring him, 'just because you are so…so noble, doesn't give you the right to judge me inferior…'

'Salazar,' Godric snapped back, his patience wearing, 'When has this ever been about me thinking I'm superior to you? I watched my father beat my mother bloody for years. Do you remember what I was like when you rescued me from him? My mother suffered far worse than I did. I saw how she wilted under the strict law of my father's hand. Season after season, having to ignore the bruises and marks which marred her skin, knowing that there was nothing that I could do to stop it. When my mother died, I swore I'd never let that happen again if it was in my power!'

'Uh,' grunted Salazar, 'your nobility is insufferable!'

'I know you, Sal,' Godric growled, visibly struggling to keep his frayed temper in check, 'probably better than most. Believe it when I say that you would have regretted striking Rhyannon. You're better than this; you are a more noble man than my father could ever hope to be. I've grown up seeing you treat women with honour and respect, and how they adore you for it…'

Salazar looked away, breathing heavily as Godric's words doused his blazing rage. Godric thought he saw a flicker of shame, before being replaced by a mulish stubbornness.

'She shouldn't have said it,' the older wizard shook his head bitterly and Godric saw a glimpse of how deeply Rhyannon's words had bitten, 'she shouldn't have said what she did. No one talks about my mother…she wasn't there…no one has the right to speak of that night!'

'No,' Godric agreed coolly, 'she shouldn't have said it and she'll regret it once her anger has died. She chose the words which would hurt you most, not those that are most true…'

'Then why do you take her side?'

'I do no such thing,' Godric answered harshly, 'but you need to accept that it was your insults which were the catalyst to her cruel words. You called her a whore. She has risked a lot to become your lover, thinking with her heart rather than her head. Can you understand why she wished to hurt you, to see your heart break like hers just did?'

'Risked…' Salazar murmured softly. His eyes dropped to stare remorsefully at his boots, his gaze looking haunted. Apprehension stirred within Godric as his mind sought to determine what could have caused such a breakdown in Salazar's romance.

'What is happening Sal?' Godric asked softly. He had his suspicions over what ailed his friend and prayed to Merlin that they would not be confirmed.

'I think you can already guessed...' Salazar said dully, grimacing as the smell of burning straw reached his nostrils. He went to retrieve his wand before dousing the small flames with a jet of water, unable to face Godric's reaction.

'No…' Godric breathed in disbelief, but his friend ploughed on regardless.

'Rhyannon is with child,' Salazar whispered, his voice sounding defeated. Godric gaped at his friend, rendered speechless by the news. Rhyannon was pregnant? Surely Salazar was jesting. But then the more logical side of his mind reasoned that it was not so hard to believe, for hadn't Salazar confessed to his friends that he had become the maid's lover. Admittedly, Salazar had been more reserved in his retellings than Hamon was and as honourable as a young man could be when keeping their liaisons as guarded as possible. So Ella's dreaded prophecy had been fulfilled, Godric thought humbly, and Salazar's seed had taken root within Rhyannon, to the obvious horror of the two lovers. No wonder Rhyannon had looked gravely ill recently. The only sound that disturbed the shocked silence was the scuttling of small mice burrowing into the thatch above their heads.

'Merlin,' Godric finally stuttered unhelpfully, shaking his head, 'you bloody idiot!'

'Godric…' Salazar tried to interrupt, cringing at the glare Godric levelled at him, 'you've got to help me…'

'You have to tell Lady Morwenna!' If Salazar had been pale before, his skin now gleamed like alabaster as this unwanted task loomed over him.

'Are you mad?' Salazar spluttered incredulously.

'You have no choice!' Godric replied sympathetically.

'Choice?' Salazar gasped, 'do you think I'll have any choice other than being a father to this…child if Morwenna learns of it. I'd rather take my chances with Ella and the services she provides as a wise-woman. She knows how to brew the potions needed to shake an unborn child from its mother's womb early…'

'And what does Rhyannon say?' Godric asked patiently. He had heard that Ella possessed the knowledge of how to both prevent unforeseen pregnancies and to rid the parents of an unwanted child. These services were often more sought after than any she provided as a whore and many of Alain's tenants and the local folk of the marshes ventured to Avalon, risking the displeasure of the Church to beg for her assistance. If Alain and Morwenna knew of these happenings, they turned a blind eye to the practice.

'She intends on keeping it,' Salazar grunted, 'despite everything; the dishonour of bearing a child out of wedlock, the risks of childbirth and the sullying of all our reputations. She is still set on bearing the babe to its full term.'

'Then you really have no choice,' Godric told his friend softly, 'if Rhyannon has already decided on this, then there will be little I can do. I am not gifted with words as you are, and if you failed to persuade her then I certainly want to be able too. You must speak with Morwenna!'

'She'll kill me,' Salazar whimpered, visibly cringing at the furious tempest the Lady of Avalon would unleash on him once she heard of his predicament. Even Godric winced, for Morwenna's anger was a terrifying thing and only fools would dare to cross it willingly. Even her husband feared to do so and he was one of the bravest men in Britain.

'She'll do worse if you don't tell her,' Godric warned him, 'not even Merlin himself could defend you if Lady Morwenna was to learn of this by other means…'

'Maybe…' Salazar wondered aloud, his mind hopelessly trying to think of any other alternatives that didn't include putting his life at risk.

'You could always speak with Lord Alain?'

'No,' Salazar spluttered, dismissing the notion instantly. He had decided many moons ago that he couldn't bear the thought of seeing any disappointment in the Lord of Avalon's eyes when he next looked upon Salazar.

'He's a good lord, Sal,' Godric persevered, 'and he's never taken a lash to us, no matter how much we've deserved it.'

'No,' Salazar interrupted him and Godric didn't ask again.

'Sal,' Godric sighed, 'you must speak with Morwenna, and I'd go soon, for Rhyannon's behaviour has already aroused suspicion and it won't be long before a keener eye than mine discovers the truth.' Salazar stared at Godric, before sighing resignedly and nodding in agreement. This was a mistake of his own making and he would take responsibility for his actions. He steeled himself for the diatribe to come. Before he departed for what he highly suspected was his impending doom, he paused at the stable door and flashed his friend a small smile,

'I'm grateful that it was you that learned of this,' Salazar admitted seriously, before baulking, 'imagine if it had been Hamon? I'd have died of shame.'

'Oh I wouldn't say that,' Godric smirked provocatively, 'I'm looking forward to seeing your balls nailed to Avalon's gate just as much as Hamon would…'

Godric wasn't present when Salazar finally summoned the courage to tell Morwenna, but he heard it. Frowning, Morwenna had led Salazar to her bedchamber and closed the door firmly behind them, sensing from Salazar's gloomy countenance that whatever the young wizard had to say would not be welcome news. Fortunately, Godric had the sense to recognise that all concerned would rather keep the news of Rhyannon's pregnancy a secret until Alain and Morwenna deemed it necessary to inform the rest of the household. At Salazar's request, Godric had informed a shocked Hamon of the news before asking him to aid his efforts to keep the truth concealed. Together, they guarded the door to Alain and Morwenna's bedchamber. Thus, they were close enough to hear Salazar admit to his predicament.

Morwenna's wrath was great. Godric had always been astounded that such a demure being as the Lady of Avalon could unleash such a fearsome anger. The Lady of Avalon had once warned the squire away from the household's maids, but Salazar was young and hot-blooded and Morwenna was now seething at Salazar's blatant disregard for her advice. Godric winced as her voice resounded off the corridor walls, whilst Hamon guffawed unhelpfully at Salazar's misfortune. Her voice grew so loud that Godric was forced to cast a silencing charm on the door to prevent the secret from being exposed. The Lady of Avalon berated Salazar for almost an hour. She only paused in her tirade to send her handmaiden Aelflaed to fetch Rhyannon and ordered Hamon to locate her husband. Alain looked bemused at the summons, glancing questioningly at the guarded Godric as he passed into the chamber. When Rhyannon appeared in the passage, almost cowering behind Aelflaed as she followed the handmaiden into her mistress's private chamber. She looked ill and didn't even spare Godric and Hamon a glance as she slipped timidly past them. As the bedchambers door creaked shut, Godric caught a glimpse of a dejected Salazar. He looked so much like a kicked pup that even Hamon didn't have the heart to mock him.

However, Godric learned later that as soon as Rhyannon stepped across the bedchamber's threshold, Morwenna strode towards the girl. Rhyannon had shirked away, expecting to be struck, but Morwenna merely wrapped the girl in a motherly embrace, showering her with such caring and tender affection that Rhyannon was reduced to tears. Morwenna chastised her gently as the serving girl sobbed in her arms, but not for her carelessness. What weighed heavily on Morwenna's heart was that Rhyannon had hesitated in telling the Lady of Avalon, for fear that she would be expelled from the sacred Isle of Apples. Morwenna immediately put these fears to rest, swearing that she would never dismiss such an excellent serving maid such an offence. Alain wholeheartedly supported his wife's decision before suggesting that Morwenna should take a tearful Rhyannon to her gardens, where they could talk without disturbance. For Rhyannon's benefit, Alain's tone was kind and masked his disappoint at the revelation well, but his eyes betrayed his true feelings as they rested sternly on a visibly cringing Salazar.

Godric did not know what was said between them. Alain and Salazar spoke for many hours and the moon had long ousted the sun from its high throne by the time a pale Salazar finally re-joined the world of Avalon's household. Whatever was said behind the closed door of the Lord of Avalon's chamber, it had the desired effect on his eldest squire. Salazar appeared more assured with the responsibility he was now burdened with and what glaring fractures had been prised open between Rhyannon seemed to have somewhat healed. Upon being dismissed from Alain's presence, Salazar had instantly sought out his young lover. Taking her to one of the many ethereal glades on Avalon, they had spoken of the nature of their love and the child who was soon to be born from it. It was obvious that Salazar cared deeply for the maid and since that night, he treated her with attentive tenderness, the rash and volatile behaviour he had exhibited in the stables forgotten. The change in Rhyannon was even more pronounced. Gone was the ghostly wraith of the previous months. Now she basked in Salazar's devoted affections, her face recovered its natural glow and she was rarely seen without a contented smile.

The duty of informing Avalon's household about the impending pregnancy fell to Alain and Morwenna, who implored that the young wizard and the serving maid be afforded a life free from scorn or slander. They needn't have worried, for Salazar's fears of cruel rumours failed to materialise and Rhyannon's companions amongst the servants were more devoted to her care than any save Salazar himself. Whilst wiser heads in the household despaired at their youthful foolishness, they did not voice their disapproval and supported them when they could.

It was a pleasant time. One particular afternoon, when Alain had freed them from their duties, the three squires were joined by Rhyannon as they shared a meal whilst they enjoyed a moment's respite, slumbering in the shade offered by Avalon's apple trees whilst listening to the gentle trickle of a nearby waterfall and the rustle of the leaves on the breeze. Hamon used the opportunity to sate his curiosity about the unborn child.

'Do you want a boy or a girl?' Hamon asked inquisitively,

Salazar took a bite from a succulent apple, looking thoughtful as he rested his back against a tree, stroking Rhyannon's long hair where flowers had been sown into it and who was resting her head on her lover's lap.

'I haven't given it much thought,' Salazar admitted, 'as long as the child and mother are healthy then I am not concerned…'

'He wants a boy,' Rhyannon scoffed, tracing a hand delicately over her rounding belly.

'I do not,' Salazar exclaimed,

'Truly?' she probed, before laughing triumphantly at his hesitation, 'I thought so. I'd rather it was a boy.'

'Why?' Godric asked,

'A boy will have more advantages in life than a girl,' Rhyannon explained simply,

'The magical world is different,' Salazar assured Rhyannon, raising her hand to his lips and kissing her fingers tenderly, 'witches can rise further in my world…'

' _If_ the child is magical,' Rhyannon said softly,

'It will be,' Salazar said firmly, confident that any child of his bloodline would be magical.

'I hope you're right, my love,' Rhyannon sighed, 'but your world is still blighted with the same woes as mine and Hamons. Men hoard power whilst women are expected to serve and make no complaints about their lot in life…'

'Someone has been speaking with Ella,' said Salazar ruefully,

'She is very wise,' Rhyannon defended the whore, 'and she has led a hard life. Though she has not spoken to me since she heard the news about the child. I think she dislikes me now…'

'She dislikes anyone with a cock!'

'Not everyone,' Hamon smirked proudly, drawing an amused laugh from his companions with his bravado.

'Wouldn't you if you had lived the life she has?' Rhyannon chastised her lover,

'Do you hate all men too?' Salazar asked cheekily,

'I wouldn't be in this position if I did,' Rhyannon smiled, slapping his leg softly.

'Well, I hope it's a boy,' Hamon grinned, 'I expect little Hamon to grow up to be as strong and handsome as his namesake.'

' _Little Hamon_?' Salazar spluttered, 'are you drunk? Or have you suffered a blow to the head? You must have lost your wits if you think I'd name my child after you.'

'I like it,' Rhyannon mused teasingly and smiling at her horrified lover,

'Surely not?'

'Well, I'd happily name the child after the Devil himself as long as it is strong and God grants me a chance to see it grow,' she murmured wistfully, staring at her stomach, 'I'll admit, a girl would be nice...'

'You could always try for a girl child in another year or two,' Hamon chuckled, causing Salazar to baulk, 'just promise me you'll call her Godric.'

'Such a woman would be an Amazon,' Salazar noted with a laugh, 'or a Shieldmaiden of the Norse pantheon. I'd rather not have such an adventurer for a daughter…'

'Or a daughter as ugly as sin,' Hamon mocked, before crying out in pain as he was struck by an apple thrown by Godric.

'He'd be able to give his name to his own children,' Rhyannon smiled at Godric, 'although I hear that the time for this may not be too far ahead of us. What did you say the maiden's name was again, Salazar?'

'Snake,' Godric grumbled to the merriment of his companions. Rhyannon took pity on him first, diverting the discussion back to her unborn child.

'I don't doubt that you'll both make great inspirations for our child,' she said, 'but I want the child to be just like it's father,'

'An arrogant buffoon?' Hamon smirked,

'A great wizard,' she corrected him, squeezing Salazar's hand. Watching them closely, Godric could see that the fractures in their relationship had still not healed fully. The looks Rhyannon gave Salazar were still laced with guilt over what was said between them during the argument in the stables and she actively strove to support Salazar in his endeavours. Despite Salazar's sudden change of heart, to Godric, his friend's smile always beamed less brightly than Rhyannon's in the weeks that followed. The younger wizard suspected that whilst his friend had adopted a courageous front, the same fears which had haunted him since the discovery of Rhyannon's condition continued to plague Salazar's heart.

'Never thought I'd be a father,' Salazar admitted to Godric one cool autumn day as they were collecting wood for Samhain's fires, 'who'd have believed it?'

'Not many,' Godric agreed, remembering the night of their return from Ynys Mon, where Salazar had voiced his distaste for fatherhood. Salazar grimaced, sensing that Godric had left much unsaid.

'I'm scared,' Salazar suddenly blurted, then reddened as Godric looked at him in surprise. The older wizard had surprised himself, for he had unwittingly admitted to a fear that he had had not intended to share.

'There is nothing to fear,' Godric said finally after an uncomfortable silence had fallen between them. He smiled reassuringly, clapping Salazar on the back and causing the older wizard to wince from the strength of the blow, 'we'll be with you, whenever you need it…'

'I don't doubt it,' Salazar laughed, his relief evident, 'after all, you are Godric the Lionheart. Is there anything you do fear?' His laugh grew louder as he danced aside from Godric's playful cuff. Salazar didn't notice Godric's smile falter. He was constantly battling the fears which threatened to overwhelm him. He feared the devil who still haunted his dreams, feared the rising power of an enemy who wished him dead and ever since Lughnasadh, he had dreaded that a raven-haired maiden would become unattainable because of an unwanted marriage to another man. Godric had more fears than most men.

Only Ella could be found to openly disparage the union. Godric had not expected any less. The whore had seen these situations many times before through her service as a midwife and wise woman and her disdain for Salazar's lack of self-discipline was easy to see. Godric suspected that the viciousness which permeated Ella's attitude was born from past experience rather than her personal feelings for either Salazar or Rhyannon. It came to a head in the guardroom, a place reserved for Alain's retinue but which was often frequented by many others. Ella could often be found there, seeking to earn more gold or supplying her seasonal batch of brewed ale for them to enjoy.

For years, Alain's squires had joined the veteran warriors to hear tales of past exploits or share a pot of ale that they were too young to drink. Rhyannon had been invited to join them, but Ella's sneering disdain for the young maid had become so harsh that a sudden outburst of catty vitriol reduced the young girl to tears and forced her to flee the room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake. Seeing that Salazar was seriously considering drawing his wand and cursing the whore, Godric stood and defended his friends, sternly telling Ella to hold her tongue. When Ella turned on him, ignoring the young wizard's warning and preparing to unleash a tirade of scathing insults in his direction, Godric drew his wand and cast a silencing charm on her, cutting her off before she even began.

It was an unexpected move, judging by the shocked expressions of those who witnessed it. None were more surprised at Godric's daring than Ella, for when the whore tried to speak she found that she couldn't utter a single word. She ceased trying and instead stared at Godric with wide eyes. Godric waited a moment, before he broke the silence, grunting as he waved his wand and countered the spell. Ella's remained silent, her calculating gaze fixed upon him, thoughtful and doused of the rage many suspected would flare once the spell was removed. Then she fled from the guardroom in silence, leaving Godric with a visibly uneasy Hamon. The young wizard washed away the disconcerting feeling which had been caused by the look Avalon's whore had given him with ale and cast her from his mind.

Soon after, Godric received his first invitation to share Ella's bed. She came to him at night, clad in a dark cloak to aid her concealment as she wandered in the shadows of Avalon's keep. Godric woke at the first sound of his bedchamber door creaking open. His hand was moving before he'd even registered that an intruder had entered the chamber, reaching out to clasp the hilt of the eating knife lying beside his feathered mattress. Godric scrambled into a crouched position, throwing aside the obstructing sheets which hindered his legs as he prepared to lunge and tackle the foreign presence which had disturbed his sleep. However, before he could move, a soft whisper pierced his sleep numbed mind,

'Are you always so eager to reach for your _sword_?' said an amused voice, and Godric's eyes widened in recognition,

 _'Ella_? _'_ he hissed quietly in disbelief, dumbfounded to find the whore in his bedchamber.

'How observant you are,' Ella teased him. The door groaned softly as Ella closed it behind her and bolted it shut. Then she pulled down the mantle of her dark cloak, releasing a shower of flaming locks which cascaded loosely about her bare shoulders.

'What are you doing here?' Godric demanded dumbly,

'I would have thought my intentions were obvious,' Ella smiled sultrily, then pulled the thick string which held her cloak at her shoulders loose, guiding the cloak off her body and revealing herself to him. Godric was stunned, his mouth opening and closing without uttering a sound. He had never seen a woman in a state of undress. Indeed, apart from fleeting glimpses of semi-naked whores riding the men who paid them for their stimulating services, his only exposure to a woman's nakedness were the faded images which adorned the crumbling walls of Avalon's cellars and foundations. The ancient murals displayed nymphs and maidens displayed who gloried in their nakedness, dancing in wanton lust and exhibiting a flawless natural beauty. Lude graffiti which would make a priest blush framed the images, scrawled on by aroused youths throughout the ages. Yet, these long dead artists had barely captured the true beauty of a naked woman and paled in comparison to the heavenly goddess before him, standing proudly like an ancient huntress come to the chase.

Ella chuckled at how she had rendered him speechless. She strode to his bed and plucked the sheets from his senseless fingers and slipped beneath them to add her warmth to his. Godric stuttered incoherently, feeling the purposeful press of Ella's body against his own. A delicate hand traced the muscles of his chest and arms and Godric blushed furiously at the touch, hearing Ella hum in appreciation.

'No longer a boy,' the whore whispered softly, sliding a long, toned leg over Godric's own. The young wizard's mind failed him again, conscious of how her breasts pressed into his side.

'Ella,' he finally managed to breathe, 'this isn't…'

'Shhh,' she replied, her hand slowly tracing lower as she rested her lips on Godric's neck and kissed his skin gently. Godric shuddered at the contact, causing Ella to smile at the reaction she had elicited, 'I want this…'

'We shouldn't…' he tried again, although his voice lacked any real conviction.

'We should,' Ella told him firmly and her hand suddenly clasped his manhood. Godric jolted, his eyes widening as Ella began to gently caress him, a teasing smile on her lips,

'Ella,' he choked, his body wracked with uncontrollable shivers as the whore began to stroke him with the expertise of a whore who had plied her trade for half her lifetime.

'You are a man now,' she crooned softly, kissing his chest, 'you have earned the right to take me…' Suddenly, Ella deftly manoeuvred her body so that she sat in a position of power, straddling the young wizard and with his manhood still grasped securely in her hand. She ran the other soothingly across the muscles of his chest. Her breathing was heavy as she basked in his wonder, her red locks cascading down about her breasts.

'I can't…' Godric groaned desperately, closing his eyes tightly as his body tensed. Knowing that the young wizard was ignorant to the act of lovemaking and in order to prolong the moment, Ella removed her hand from his manhood and massaged his body to calm him.

'Relax,' she breathed into his ear as she leant down, 'enjoy it. I've been waiting for this for a long time now. Waiting until you became a man…' Godric shook his head. He'd be a liar if he denied that this union had not crossed his mind before, but he had dismissed it as impossible. Now he recognised that he had misjudged her. Ever since he arrived in Avalon, Ella had taken a peculiar interest in his development and he had always thought that her flirtations were that of an attractive woman teasing an enamoured boy, designed to unnerve and embarrass him. He would never have had believed that her coy remarks hid any real feelings for the young man he was becoming.

He shivered involuntarily as Ella trailed light kisses across his neck, nipping at his skin with her teeth.

'Make me feel things I have never done before,' she directed him persuasively, her lips hovering at his jaw. A fleeting, unforeseen memory of Hamon, his loyal and trusting friend, professing his love for the woman currently straddling him flashed across the Godric's mind.

'Hamon…' Godric mumbled, trying to move his face away from Ella's probing mouth.

'Forget him,' Ella ordered with a whisper, 'forget everyone else. This night, there is only you and I.'

Before Godric could argue further, her hand had reached for his face and turned his head to face her. The sensation of her lips meeting his own robbed him of speech. They kissed softly and when they broke apart, Godric found Ella staring down at him with a lustful smile.

'Use the charm you cast on me,' Ella told him. With a grunt and no longer thinking, he reached for his wand and with a waved it hastily, casting a silencing spell on his chamber and ensuring that they would not be disturbed. Then he felt her welcoming touch return to his manhood and Godric flung his wand aside, his own lust flaring. It was a different beast entirely to the monster who usually stirred within him as she clasped it and he jerked at the foreign feeling. He knew what was expected, having received much unlooked for advice from his two friends and he was suddenly willing prove himself.

'Such a mighty weapon,' she purred huskily, stroking him, 'let's see how well you can wield it!' Then she was kissing him and he responded with the same fervent passion, wrapping his strong arms around her naked body, his hands exploring all she wished to give him. He could taste the subtle bitterness of alcohol on her breath and his actions were encouraged when she moaned into his mouth, a sound elicited by his careful exploration of her breasts.

'Godwin,' she groaned breathlessly, breaking the kiss as she pressed her body against his own, desperate for his touch. Godric's mind barely registered that Ella had called him by another name. The mistake was of no concern, for he knew no Godwin and his soul desire was to satisfy the woman is his arms. He revelled in the feel of her soft skin in his hands, the taste of her lips and the hitch of her breath at the pleasure his touch flooded her with. As she masterfully shifted their positions and readied him for the plunge, his own blood burned at the feel of her long, raven hair tickling his skin and gloried in the sound of his name gasping from those lips in that highland brogue…

Godric's eyes flew open and for the briefest heartbeat, it was not Ella but Rowena he held in his arms, her dark eyes staring at him adoringly as they hovered on the brink of uniting. In his mind he suddenly saw Rowena's playful smile disappear as hurt clouded her eyes; the look of betrayal Hamon levelled at him when he learned that Godric had taken the woman he loved to his bed. Panic suddenly flooded him and just as Ella impatiently thrust her body down to take the young wizard as her lover, Godric's strong arms flung her away.

'No,' he roared as she cried out in shock, landing roughly at the end of his mattress. They stared at each other and Godric appeared just as surprised by his actions as Ella. Only their ragged breathing broke the stunned silence which had descended. But anger was quick to replace the hoick and Ella's gaze blazed with a sudden fury,

'What the fuck!' she hissed,

'Ella,' Godric murmured apologetically, 'I…'

His apology was cut off as Ella leapt forward and slapped him hard across the face. Godric had no time to defend against the blow,

'How dare you,' she snapped, 'are you not attracted to me?'

'It's not that…'

'Are you blinded by nerves?'

'No,' Godric said earnestly,

'Then why do you not take me?'

'I can't,' Godric breathed, 'not with you!'

She lunged forward, her hand raised to slap again. But this time, he expected it and acted instinctively, catching hold of her arm before the blow could land. She didn't cease to fight, struggling uselessly against his superior strength. Godric hoped his silencing spell would hold, for their raised voices would have surely alerted others to a feminine presence in Godric's room.

'Fuck you,' she spat fiercely, 'I came to you…'

'I know…'

'I was willing to give myself to you. I was going to be charitable. Do you know how many men have offered me riches fit for a queen for the chance of a night like this? But I was prepared to give you the pleasure of my body free of price. I deemed that you had earned it, had proven yourself a man. Yet, when the moment comes, I find that you are not man enough for the challenge…'

'Ella,' Godric growled warningly. Ella ignored him. Her heart was filled with rage over his spurning of her advances and lying prostrate, terrible in her nakedness, she was determined to humiliate him.

'Is it that you are unable to feel passion for a woman?' the whore spat out spitefully, 'or do you enjoy the embrace of men? Did you find a taste for sodomy at Lughnasadh? Festivals are fertile grounds for such vices, or had you already discovered a skill for lifting your arse before you reached Ynys Mon?' She pulled her arms free from his grasp and spun onto her knees, her back to him. Crouching low, she leered at him from over her shoulder, 'you can take me like that if you want? I am no novice and have no aversion to it…'

'How a man loves another and what they do to express their affections are no concern of mine,' he said firmly, determinedly ignoring her blazon invitation, 'nor does my own lust stray down that road.'

'Ah,' Ella cackled mockingly, spinning to face him, 'so the paladins capable of summoning the lust of mortal men. What a high dais you raise yourself, how virtuous others think you are. Yet in reality, you are just as arrogant as all other men.'

'Do you cast such misjudged accusations against every man who turns you away?'

'Not many do,' she snapped cattily, 'so, have you found another lover? I am not blind to how the serving maids now treat you. Have you followed in Salazar's footsteps and figured out that serving girls make eager playmates?'

'No,' Godric grunted forcefully, his patience wearing away quickly.

'What about that little golden-haired girl?' Ella asked waspishly, 'are you a man who prefers his lovers young? Has she taken your heart?'

'No,' Godric snapped again, his own anger rising at the insinuation that he would seek pleasure from a maiden who was no older than a child. Ella's smirk widened and her eyes narrowed,

'Then it is the raven-haired one,' she sniggered, 'I should have guessed you had fallen for that little wench…'

Godric jerked forward, then stopped just as suddenly as he wrestled for control over his flaring temper. Ella could insult him to the end of the world, but Godric would not stomach any insult to Rowena, especially when she wasn't there to defend herself. Ella's eyes widened momentarily, but when Godric made no further efforts to act upon the sudden impulse to lunge forward, her mocking sneer returned.

'Do you want to strike me Godric?' Godric glared at the whore

'I swore that I'd never hit a woman,'

'So noble of you,' she mocked him, 'but what does that temper of yours say?' Godric thought he heard a tinge of excitement in her voice,

'That I am not my father!' Godric told her slowly, 'but if I hear you insult Rowena again, then I can make no promises…'

They continued to stare defiantly at each other, engaged in a silent contest of wills. Surprisingly, it was Ella who looked away first, sighing dejectedly,

'Maybe you really are too noble to blemish with the passions of other men…'

Tears suddenly whelmed up in Ella's eyes, streaming down her cheeks as she bent her head, hastily trying to hide them from Godric's sight with tendrils of her flaming hair. Godric was so taken aback by the sudden shift in her countenance that he didn't make any attempt to comfort her.

'I'm tired of this life,' she whispered bitterly, looking away from him, 'tired of being a whore, to be used for the pleasure of others. It soon grows laborsome to have hulking beasts repeatedly spend themselves in you, seeking their own bliss whilst not caring for your own. I'm tired of seeing young girl's like Rhyannon make the same mistakes year after year, taken by men and turned into mere possessions or instruments for dynastic ambitions. Then their men soon grow bored and seek other adventures, younger women and harder battles, discarding the foolish girls and leaving them alone to care for their offspring, leaking milk and reeking of shit.'

'That's what happened to you, wasn't it?' Godric probed gently, realisation finally dawning on him. Ella's bitterness towards men must have been a consequence of harsh experiences and bitter betrayals.

'Godwin,' she admitted, nodding absentmindedly, 'I don't know why I came here tonight. I think, in some perverse fashion, you reminded me of him and I yearned to feel young again like I did was when I was his lover. Godwin was tall, heroic and good with a sword. But then he left and never returned, leaving me with nothing and forcing me into whoredom to preserve my own survival.'

'He shouldn't have left you,' Godric concluded firmly, causing Ella to laugh harshly,

'Would you leave if Alain called you to war?' she taunted him, 'would you leave the woman you love for a cause you believed in?'

'No!'

'I don't believe you,' Ella scoffed, 'but we shall see what choices you make when the time comes.'

Shaking her head, she turned away from him, her expression sombre,

'I've grown tired of Avalon,' she admitted sadly, 'I see that you think I'm mad. After all, what bitter creature could grow bored of this blissful place? Soon I'll be old, too old for...I…I miss him.'

'Godwin?'

'No,' she smiled sadly, 'Amalric. My young, handsome heir to the Black family. For those few days we were together, he worshipped me and I have always adored being desired. He made me feel young again, for such a man could have any woman he chose. Yet, it was me he desired and me who he bedded like a proud stallion in heat…' Godric grunted disconcertingly. He would willingly seek a torturous death before he heard details of Amalric Black's prowess as a lover. Besides, Godric wasn't keen on the man. Black was a reptile, with unreadable shrewd eyes that gave little away and had no trust in others. Honour, in such a man's eyes, was brought not made. The young wizard wouldn't be surprised if Black considered everyone as merely a piece to be exploited in a grand game of power. Yet, seeing Ella hunched over, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, he didn't have the heart to voice any reservations he had about Black.

'He wanted me to come with him,' Ella continued her tale, 'we laid together on the last night of Lughnasadh and he told me he loved me. He even begged if it can be believed of such a proud man, promising that it was more than just my body he yearned for, but my mind he held in high esteem. I haven't felt so wanted since I was a maiden, to be valued for my mind as well as my body or the services I provide. Being with Amalric is so different than rutting with brutes like Bayard or eager youths like young Slytherin. I wish with all my heart that I had seized his offer and followed him.'

'Why didn't you?' Godric asked curiously,

'Because I have sworn my loyalty to Lord Alain,' Ella said ruefully, 'and he has always been kind to me, treating me well and allowing me the freedoms that many women are denied. Even Morwenna, who disapproves of me so vehemently is no fool and he values my expertise in herbs and ailments. Avalon is a blessed place and it would be a wrench of my heart to leave it. So until I summon the courage to ask Alain for his permission to leave, I will be content with the messages Amalric sends me by hawk.'

'There will be many people in Avalon who will miss your presence,' Godric said, only for Ella to bark with disbelieving laughter, 'trust me, and think of the tears Bayard will shed when he no longer has privileged access to your famous ale. I'd wager even Morwenna would miss clashing with you, for who else could she match wits with.'

Ella chuckled at his obvious attempts to lighten her mood.

'So it is my ale and the entertainments I provide that people will miss most,' she said dryly, 'oh, what a place in people's hearts I have…'

'Hamon will miss you,' Godric ventured. Ella's mocking smile faltered and her face softened at the mention of the tawny-haired squire, proving Godric's suspicions right. She was fond of Hamon, that much was obvious, and Godric suspected that there was some truth to what Hamon had claimed about there been a bond between them. If Ella desired the adoration of a lover, then she had to look no further than Hamon FitzHugh.

'Hamon is young,' Ella whispered, 'and he's a good man. He'll find himself a young woman to marry, to give him children and run his household. He deserves better than an ageing whore, embittered by the world and soon to pass beyond the usual uses a wife provides.'

To Godric, it sounded as if the red-headed woman was trying to convince herself, but he didn't press her further. He had already tried his luck. Seeing her reaction now, his suspicions about her affections for Hamon were at least confirmed.

'I'm sure Lord Alain will grant his permission,' Godric assured her confidently, 'and if you need it, though I have little gold to give, then I swear I'll support you.'

Ella stared at him thoughtfully, before she leant forward and pressed her lips to his. He felt her tongue dart past his teeth and he instinctively stiffened at her touch, but Avalon's whore soon drew away. She smiled at him, wiping tears away from reddened eyes.

'Noble Godric,' she whispered fondly, 'what a hero you will make one day. If I was a maiden then I think that I could have fallen for you. Your Scottish lover is very fortunate to own your heart. She must be quite the woman to command such loyalty. As for your offer; I have enough gold to spend many years in comfort, but I appreciate the offer.'

'We are not lovers,' Godric admitted sheepishly, blushing at the thought of having Rowena in his arms.

'You will be one day,' Ella told him with a smile, expressing a certainty that Godric did not possess himself. He suddenly became very aware of their continued nakedness. Godric reached for his discarded wand and silently summoned the cloak which still lay in the heap where Ella had left it. With careful hands, Godric draped the cloak back over her shoulders to cover her. She smiled gratefully at the gesture, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. However, when he tried to pull away, intent on finding sleep on the floor whilst Ella occupied the mattress, her hand grasped his tightly.

'No, don't leave me,' she begged, the tears having returned, 'please, Godric…' The young wizard hesitated, then sighed as he laid back down on the feathered bed. Ella didn't protest as she was pulled down to join him. Godric allowed Ella to rest cuddled against his side until her tears had dried and they had both drifted into a deep sleep. When Godric awoke the next morning, Ella had gone, slipping away during the night whilst Godric slumbered. In the weeks that followed, Godric rarely saw Ella and the young wizard began to suspect that the whore was avoiding him. He did the same and when their paths did cross, no word of that night ever passed their lips.

The following weeks passed in a blur. The colouring of the trees which cloaked the sacred isle turned from the vibrant green of summer to the golden hue of autumn. As Samhain neared and preparations began on the feast which accompanied the festival, a peaceful atmosphere descended on Avalon. They had suffered losses and scandal, but the Lord of Avalon and his household had weathered the dangers of the summer months and now they basked in a contentment which pulsated with enthusiasm for the future to come. It was a happy time. Godric should have known that it could not last…

* * *

Another two chapters up. Next three will be posted sometime next week hopefully. Cheers to all the new readers who are following it or have favourited the story...feel free to leave a review or drop me a message and i'll reply as quickly as I can...


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two: Eira's Fall

**Eira's Fall**

Life is cruel. One moment, someone could be basking in all that is good in the world, surrounded by loved ones, assured of their honour and content with their lot. Then, in the briefest of heartbeats, it could all slip away. Godric had already suffered from such a reversal in fortune. As a child, he had lost both his mother and brother in the span of months. Their deaths were the catalysts to his volatile father's years of spiraling depression, whilst cursing Godric to wallow in a state of loneliness and fear, unprotected from the prejudices of others. Now, as the festival of Samhain passed by and Avalon's stores were being restocked in preparation for the coming of winter, fate paid the Lord of Avalon's household a harsh hand.

It came on a day like any other. Word had reached the Lord of Avalon that a wild boar was loose and rampaging across his lands. Rumours said that it was a colossal beast, far greater in size than any boar would naturally be and Alain suspected that the creature had been tampered with and driven mad by magic. The tale reeked of wizarding experimentation; a magical practice heavily frowned upon by the Wizengamot and a crime worthy of heavy fines. The marauding beast was leaving carnage in its wake, destroying homesteads and displacing many of Alain's tenants. When a forester was killed, gauged by the creature's lethal tusks, Alain was forced to take action.

Alain was too occupied with other matters to deal with the marauding boar. A dispute over land tenure had erupted between one of his Muggle tenants and the monks of Glastonbury. A heated exchange had led to a harvest time brawl and blood had been spilled, although no one had been killed in the fight. Whilst the incident was eventually brought to an end and those responsible detained, the brooding anger felt by both parties threatened more violence if the situation wasn't hastily rectified. Alain had ridden out immediately, taking only Hugh and Bayard with him, his most formidable knights. The Lord of Avalon would have to tread carefully, for it wasn't just in Alain's best interest to bring peace back to his land, but also the King's. Rufus's relationship with the English Church had soured, with allegations that the King was purposely delaying the appointment of an Archbishop of Canterbury in order to redirect Church revenues into the Crown's coffers. A dispute between the King's Grand Sorcerer, a figure who the Church held no love for, and the ecclesiastical community at Glastonbury could fuel the wrath of the clergy and turn a powerful faction against Rufus with the potential to spark disaster for the King.

Alain delegated the responsibility of hunting the boar to his three squires and they took to the challenge with the vigour of errant knights. They set out on horseback alone, with no hounds to accompany them. It would be a futile waste of good hunting hounds to use the dogs on such a crazed beast. It took the trio two days to hunt the boar down and another for Salazar to charm the creature with magic to lure it out of its woodland den. The three young men felt confident until the lures proved successful and the magically enhanced boar burst from the woodland foliage and roared as it attacked.

The beast burst from the undergrowth in a thunderous charge, causing the three squires to scatter hastily aside. They could immediately tell that this was an experienced fighter, old in the ways of the hunt. Its hide was covered in healed scars and the broken shafts of arrows and spears protruded from its hulking bulk. Mud splattered the beast as it thrust forwards and narrowly missed a panicking Hamon, who was forced to throw himself aside to avoid those bloodstained tusks. It reeled around and charged again, only for a powerful spell cast by Godric to strike its side. It squealed in pain and rage as the spell impacted, breaking bones and bruising organs. But the huge creature was not done yet. It had been a lord amongst its kind, before the evil vices of men had driven it mad and far from its home. Now it surged towards Godric, a killing intent shining from its mad eyes.

Salazar's charm tripped the beast, causing it to fall and plow a deep thorough into the leaf-strewn earth. Spells lacerated its hide as it lumbered back to its feet and even with the combined strength of Godric and Hamon driving spears deep into the beast's guts, it took them many more spells and too many near misses for the mighty boar to finally succumb to its fate with one last, agonised wail. Disheveled, stained with the beast's blood and splattered with mud, the three squires heartily congratulated one another before bringing the carcass back to Avalon. Using spells to bear the boar's great weight, they hauled it back to Avalon where Magge and her kitchen maids would prepare the meat for the long and cold winter months.

However, as they crossed the threshold of the castle's bailey, they were not met by the expected acclaim for their exploits but were instead welcomed by the jolting sound of an agonised scream. The cry rendered them motionless with shock until an ashen-faced Lambert strode from the keep. The steward ignored Godric and Hamon, aiming directly for their older companion.

'Salazar,' he began, is voice serious and laced with sympathy he had never exhibited before, 'there is a problem with Rhyannon…'

Salazar blinked as it took him a heartbeat to register what the steward was saying. Then he leaped from his horse and sprinted for the keep, his cloak billowing in the autumn breeze. Godric and Hamon followed in their friend's wake, leaving Lambert to tend to the boar's carcass. The very air of Avalon seemed ominously shackled in the gloom as the echoes of Rhyannon's screams rebounded off every wall and reached every ear. Servants stood frozen, their faces taut with worry and their errands forgotten. They watched on hopelessly as Salazar rushed past, bolting towards the source of the scream. Only Belin half-heartedly tried to dissuade him from entering Morwenna's bedchamber, but Salazar paid no heed to the concerned cleric and stormed on until he burst through the doors of Morwenna. He came to a sudden halt, rendered speechless by the horror before him. His two friends skidded to a stop behind him, their eyes widening at the gruesome scene with the same stunned dismay as Salazar.

Rhyannon lay prostrate upon her mistress's great bed, her pale skin gleaming with sweat and her face contorted with desperate agony. She was surrounded by Morwenna, Ella, Isolde and Aethelflead, who were furiously tending to her needs. The pregnant maid's robes and the sheets beneath her shuddering body were now drenched with blood. More blood than they had ever seen and the sight of it sent Godric hurtling into the past. Suddenly, it was not Rhyannon but his own mother who lay helpless on a bed of blood, screaming and struggling as she frantically fought for both her own life and that of the unborn child.

'GET HIM OUT OF HERE!' Morwenna shouted. The Lady of Avalon had been startled by their abrupt entrance but recovered quickly and now her thunderous voice succeeded in rattling a paling Godric from his memories. Blinking, Godric saw that Morwenna was gesturing impatiently at Salazar, ordering Godric to remove him from the chamber whilst she tended to the distraught young serving maid. He obeyed her, grabbing Salazar's shoulder and attempting to steer his friend away from the terrible scene. The touch of Godric's hand startled Salazar from his reverie.

'I'm staying,' Salazar snapped firmly, the internal tempest raging within his soul radiating from his face as he shrugged Godric's hand away. His heated reply robbed Morwenna of speech, who looked shocked at being disobeyed with such blatant impudence.

'You've caused enough harm,' spat Ella from her place beside the bed, wading into the dispute with the fury of a raging storm. She was hastily grinding herbs and balms with a parcel and mortar and her eyes were narrow, glaring accusingly at the young wizard, 'now you can see the consequences of your lust!'

'I have a right to be here,' Salazar protested weakly, flinching as he tried to ignore Ella's haranguing tongue.

' _Salazar,_ ' Rhyannon moaned faintly, bringing everyone to a sudden stop. Her eyes fluttered, recognising her lover's voice and dazedly seeking his presence amongst those mustered about her. Then she screamed again, sobbing with agony as her body was wracked with pain and a thick torrent of blood pulsed from between her blood-stained thighs. Godric heard Hamon gag at the sight, straining to resist the urge to vomit.

'Out,' Morwenna commanded again, taking advantage of the silence and Salazar's momentary hesitation as his wide-eyed gaze stared in terror at the streaming blood. Eventually, the Lady of Avalon's imperious tone drew Salazar from his horrified malaise.

'Let me stay,' demanded Salazar vehemently, his distress evident and fuelling his rising anger. Anger was a simpler emotion to handle than the guilt-laden anguish which clawed at his heart as his lover lay stricken amongst sheets flooded with blood.

'Godric,' Morwenna barked. This was the angriest the squires had ever seen her, with her hands sticky with blood and traitorous tears threaten to fall. Morwenna's patience with Salazar's mutinous behaviour had finally run out, 'get him out of here. This is no place for men.'

Godric and Hamon obeyed the Lady of Avalon, both grasping hold of their friend and dragging him from the room. Salazar fought wildly, but his lean frame was no match for their superior strength. It did not stop the wizard from continuing to wrestle futilely against them until Morwenna slammed the chamber door shut with a wave of her hand. It wasn't until the echo of the door had finally died that they slackened their iron grips. Salazar shoved his friends away the moment he was released and backing away, he slumped against the corridor wall and laid his head in his hands.

'It's too early,' he murmured repeatedly, 'it's too early!'

Although no one could doubt his distress, Salazar did not weep.

The screams continued long into the night. For all those long hours the three squires remained outside the chamber, holding a silent vigil outside Alain's chamber. The serving maids who went by stayed silent and averted their gazes, rushing into the bedchamber at regular intervals, before emerging moments later with pale faces and arms burdened with bundles of blood soaked sheets. Only Belin dared to disturb them, bringing comfort and much-needed sustenance for the three watchful young men. He lingered to sate their curiosity with all that had taken place during their brief foray beyond Avalon's walls.

Two days after they had embarked on their errand, Rhyannon had fallen ill. It was sudden and entirely unexpected, for she had radiated with glowing health the day before. Magge had sent one of her young kitchen girls to fetch water from Avalon's well. It was this maid who had discovered Rhyannon hunched over in a heap and barely conscious beside the stone well she had collapsed against with blood pooling around her legs. The girl's cries of alarm had alerted Lambert, who shrewdly realised that there may be a problem with the unborn child. The steward rushed her to the castle's keep before sending his wife to fetch Morwenna, Isolde and Ella to tend to the stricken maid. Rhyannon had woken soon after and the screams had begun. The three women had nursed her ever since. Godric and Hamon shuddered at the tale, but Salazar said nothing. His friend's suspected that he barely registered their presence as he stared impassively at the door.

Night had descended by the time Alain, Hugh and Bayard returned to Avalon, having settled the dispute over land tenure with the monks of Glastonbury without the negotiations descending to violence. Bayard looked especially disappointed at this conclusion, for he had made no secret of his desire to knock a few saintly heads together. They were met in the bailey by Lambert, who passed on the dark news. Godric was first alerted to Alain's return when they heard his footsteps thundering across the rush-strewn corridors, Hugh on his heels. The Lord of Avalon skidded to a halt upon seeing the ghostly faces of all three squires.

Before Alain could speak, another ear-splitting scream wrenched the air. Unlike its predecessors, this time it was laced with anguish. As it subsided into a torturous whimper, the chamber door opened with a creak to reveal a visibly weary Morwenna. The Lady of Avalon slipped out, closing the door gently behind her. She seemed surprised that such a large gathering had congregated at her chamber's threshold, but after casting a fleeting glance at her concerned husband, she turned her attention to Salazar. Godric noted how taut her face seemed in the flickering torchlight and how her eyes were shaded red from exhaustion and grief. Blood still covered her pale arms and dark splotches had soiled her dress.

'Salazar,' she said gently, coaxing the young man from his thoughts. Salazar finally looked up blinkingly.

'The child?' he croaked. Morwenna hesitated, pity and grief openly warring within her. Then she shook her head as fresh tears began to well.

'Dead,' she confirmed, trying desperately to withhold the sob that threatened to break from her, 'it was far too soon. The child was dead before it ever reached this world.'

Salazar nodded his head dully, remaining expressionless. Godric could tell that Salazar had expected it. It was still many months before Rhyannon was expected to reach her full term. Not even magic could save a child so soon after its conception.

'Rhyannon?' Salazar suddenly croaked, staring intensely at the Lady of Avalon.

'Her trauma was great,' Morwenna sighed tiredly, 'and it shows no sign of abating. She has sacrificed a lot of blood removing the child from her body and a sickness has set in. She is still with us, but I fear that if it wasn't for the combined magic of Isolde and myself, with Ella's skills in herbal lore to guide us, then I'd be the bearer of even graver tidings…'

She stepped forward suddenly and wrapped her arms around Salazar in a motherly embrace. Salazar didn't return it, his face set in a stone-like mask.

'She sleeps now,' Morwenna advised him, pulling away to stare into his pale eyes, 'believe me, Salazar, when I say that we have done all we can. Rhyannon's life is now in the Great Mother's hands. Only time will tell if she recovers…'

Salazar nodded stiffly, seemingly accepting what Morwenna was attempting to prepare him for. The Lady of Avalon looked exhausted, her eyes shadowed and her hair having untangled wildly from its usual pristine braid. The chamber door creaked open again, revealing an equally disheveled Ella. Glancing at the ensemble, she stormed past without a word, although she glowered scathingly in Salazar's direction before she left. The wizard ignored her, staring into the chamber at where Rhyannon slumbered uneasily, ghostly pale and utterly exhausted. Isolde was still beside her, wand drawn as she monitored the maid using healing charms.

'Go to her,' Alain said encouragingly. Salazar momentarily hesitated, before regaining control of his mind and driving his legs forward. He entered the room apprehensively as if the slight patter of his gentle footsteps could wake Rhyannon from her fevered slumber.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Morwenna practically collapsed into her husband's comforting arms and wept bitterly. Godric and Hamon exchanged nervous glances at Morwenna's behaviour. They had all witnessed the Lady of Avalon exhibit many different emotions in their time at Avalon, but they had never seen her wallowing in the deep pits of despair. Alain held his tearful wife close and whispered words of comfort in her ear. However, it did little to allay her grief and as if she had not heard him, Morwenna continued to sob against Alain's chest until he was forced to lead her to her gardens so that she could seek solace away from prying eyes.

Leaving Salazar to watch over Rhyannon, Godric spent the next few hours tasked with helping Ella dispose of the ruined sheets whilst Alain gathered the household in the great hall to give them news of the misfortune which had struck Avalon. Mercifully, they were soon joined by Morwenna, who had recovered her usual composure and despite her status as the Lady of Avalon, insisted on offering a helping hand with the bloodied cloth. Godric was shocked by the amount of blood which had been spilled. They worked in silence, strained after the turmoil of the hours before, although the awkwardness which had yet to diminish between Ella and Godric helped contribute to the tense atmosphere.

When the silence finally became unbearable, Godric voiced his curiosity about the Great Mother, the deity who Morwenna had beseechingly called upon to preserve the suffering maid's life. He had heard little of this mysterious goddess and had not expected Morwenna to show such fervent devotion.

'I'm not surprised you know little of her.' Morwenna smiled wryly, 'Fighting men have little faith in goddesses who do not bear the arms of war and the Great Mother is as far removed from such trifling things as a god can be. Yet, I must chastise myself for not broadening your knowledge earlier. The Great Mother was a Goddess of the Ancients, worshiped long before the druids came to Britain. She is not dissimilar from the Virgin that the Christian faith worships, in regards to it being mostly women who worship her. It is said that it was the Great Mother who blessed Avalon's pools in which I bathe and who charged the water nymphs with keeping watch as fae-guardians over the sacred waters.'

'She sounds like a powerful deity,' Godric mused respectively, although what Morwenna had said was true. He was far more interested in tales of gods and heroes of war, honour and the hunt. Deities like Thor, Ares, Bel, Mars and Mithras. To his naive mind, he had little need for knowing much about an ancient goddess of birth and fertility. It was Rhyannon who was in need of the Great Mother now, and if it took a prayer from a warrior to aid her recovery then Godric would gladly do it.

'Once she was held in high esteem across all of Britain,' Morwenna replied sadly, 'but her power has waned greatly since those blessed days. The Christian God drove all other forms of worship to the fringes of the world. Some still hold true to her and even I don't think her power has been completely lost. The Great Mother's influence can still be seen in everything, from the smallest bulb to the most towering tree; the humblest spring to the greatest river. So worship of her has not yet become extinct and her priestesses still walk this world freely. They call themselves Fae-Whisperers…'

'I have heard of the Fae-Whisperer's,' Godric said suddenly, remembering the short and fae-like Irish witch with the large pale eyes who had attended the Wizengamot.

'You mean Nolwenn,' Morwenna nodded, 'a strange little creature, but undoubtedly wise and steadfast in her devotion to the Great Mother. She is her greatest prophetess in Britain and is held in high esteem. She has visited this isle before, seeking knowledge, for Avalon is a sacred place to the Great Mother's priestesses.'

'Will this goddess be able to save Rhyannon?' asked Godric quietly. Morwenna stilled, looking away from him.

'I thought you didn't believe in deities, Godric?' she mused curiously, 'Belin claims that you have an aversion for his God and if my husband is to be believed, then you put your faith in the power of swords and wands?'

'I believe in gods,' Godric admitted thoughtfully, 'just not one, all powerful being.'

'I'd be careful who you voice this belief too,' Morwenna said warningly, although she seemed amused, 'not all priests are as understanding as our humble Belin. It could lead you to a dangerous road, one that ends with being ostracised, or crueler fates.'

'Yes, Lady,' Godric nodded finally, 'although the Church has already tried…'

Godric remembered the priest at Black-Hollow, who had spent years tormenting Godric. That was a confrontation which still needed to be resolved and the young wizard was unsure whether he'd be able to avoid it coming to blows. His temper certainly wanted it to.

'However,' she continued quietly. Her eyes had narrowed at Godric's mentioning of the Church and the way it had treated him during his childhood. He may have been on the verge of manhood, but Morwenna still felt a wave of motherly protectiveness stir and wrench her heart. 'I am glad that you have the strength to make your own mind about gods…'

'Thank you, Lady,' Godric smiled at her, 'but I'd kneel in prayer until my legs were bloody if it could guarantee Rhyannon's recovery.'

'I do not know if it would work,' Morwenna sighed, wiping at her glistening eyes, 'I fear that you could pray day and night and it will still be of no use, and the Great Mother lacks the power she once held. But it is said that she favoured women most. After all, she was worshiped at a time when women walked freely and unshackled by the yoke of men…'

'What an Eden that would be,' Ella murmured softly, causing Morwenna to chuckle unexpectedly,

'You wouldn't want all men gone, Ella,' the Lady of Avalon chastised her, before smiling at Godric, 'there are still good men in this world!'

Ella snorted, but couldn't resist glancing at Godric. Their eyes met briefly, before quickly looking away as their faces reddened. Fortunately, Morwenna was so exhausted that their strange exchange went unnoticed.

Despite treating Rhyannon with derision for being impregnated by Salazar and using cruel words to insult them, no one had fought harder to save the maid's life than Ella. She had tried every remedy she knew and called upon all her knowledge as a wise-woman to cast away the sickness that lurked inside Rhyannon. She had succeeded in easing the already dead child from the maid's stricken womb and lessening the flow of escaping blood. But the illness remained deep inside the maid and could not be dislodged and all the herbs, potions, and spells refused to revive the girl's flailing strength.

Magic and the tireless care of Avalon's household helped Rhyannon cling to life for two days after the lifeless child had been shaken from her body. For all that time, Salazar maintained his vigil at her bedside. It was evident to all that Salazar placed the blame for Rhyannon's suffering on himself, although the maid never voiced this opinion. When Godric brought his friend a platter of food to recuperate his strength, he discovered the lovers conversing softly in hushed whispers, their hands clasped together. Rhyannon had rallied slightly, although she still looked deathly pale and ill. Reluctant to disturb the tender scene, Godric did not linger. As he left he saw the maid bestow a sad smile on Salazar as she stroked his hand with a frail finger, tears glistening in her eyes. Salazar never spoke of what was said between them. It seemed that Rhyannon had accepted what all save Salazar had come to realise; she was dying and not all the magic or power of Avalon could avert her from this fate. Godric's heart almost shattered at the sight and he fled quickly. As soon as he had fled the chamber, Godric ignored the duties which demanded his attention to seek solace in the dark shadows cast by the great statue of the warrior Bedwyr. Hidden away, he shed many tears for his friends.

Rhyannon died soon after, her hand clasped in her lover's as she finally succumbed to the sickness which had plagued her since the miscarriage. The whole of the Lord of Avalon's household attended her burial amongst the sacred groves in which she had served, danced and loved. Her body was cleaned and prepared by Morwenna, who Rhyannon had served diligently since she was a little girl and now the Lady of Avalon washed her body so that no sign of the torture she had experienced was visible. Her tearful friend's had dressed her in her favourite robes and Godric suspected that Salazar was responsible for putting the small flower in her hair. Rhyannon was placed in her grave, resting peacefully as she slumbered in the deepest sleep of all.

Grief consumed the whole household and Avalon became a bleak place in the weeks that followed the burial. A heavy hearted Alain rode out on an errand to the little homestead in the marshes, where he bore Rhyannon's family the grave news of their daughter's death. Before he left, he passed over a pouch laden with gold and silver pieces. It did not replace a daughter, but it would see to their needs. Salazar did not accompany Alain. Nor did the Lord of Avalon press him too. On the night of Rhyannon's burial, Salazar fell into a drunken stupor and continued to wallow in it for days. Surprisingly, it was Lambert who provided the alcohol, passing the costrel to Godric and instructing him to give it the grieving young wizard.

'He'll need it,' the steward grunted knowingly as Godric's brow furrowed in confusion. He did not reply, having enough sense to recognise that Lambert had no intention of expanding further on what was left unsaid, although he suspected that the steward was speaking from experience. Nevertheless, the young wizard shrugged and did as he was instructed. Salazar simply prised the costrel from his hands without a word before retreating back into the gloom of his chamber, wanting no company. He stayed there for the remainder of the day until Morwenna, overwhelmed with concern for Salazar's welfare, insisted that Godric and Hamon check on their friend.

'Alohomora,' Godric muttered when they discovered Salazar's chamber door locked and reinforced with magic, forcing Godric to draw his own wand and counter the charm. The door creaked open and the two friends entered, Godric's wand lit to illuminate the chamber. As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they found the chamber in a state of disarray. The Palace of Mirrors was no more, for nearly every prized mirror lay destroyed, their rare reflective surfaces scattered like fallen snow amongst the trampled rushes. Amidst the anarchy, laying in a disheveled heap and stinking of filth and drink was Salazar. The now empty costrel was still clutched in his unconscious hand. Both his bruised fists were covered in bloodied cuts, wounds taken when he had repeatedly struck the mirrors with his bare hands, trying in vain to dispel the seething rage and hurt which plagued him.

Without a word, his friends came to his assistance. Godric, the stronger of the two, heaved Salazar into his bed as Hamon went to fetch Morwenna, whose collection of healing balms and poultices could heal his ravaged hands. Waiting for their return, Godric set about fixing Salazar's collection of mirrors and spotted a small snake huddled in the shelter of the chamber's shadows. It was not uncommon to find snakes in Salazar's room, due to the young wizard's curious ability to speak with vipers. Maintaining a wide berth with the hissing creature, Godric ignored it. Oddly, he wondered if the snake was more aware of Salazar's internal torment than he was and felt a wave of sorrow threaten to overwhelm him at the possibility.

In the days that followed, Salazar remained in a near-constant state of dejected melancholy. He neither spoke nor sought out company, and his errands were completed in silence, although he avoided Alain and Morwenna's private chambers as if it was cursed by the plague. Salazar would rise before dawn, go about his duties and then return sullenly to the gloom of his bedchamber, pausing only to filch a meager meal from the kitchens. His usual eloquence was replaced by grunts and disinterested murmurs. Only the ale he abundantly consumed seemed to deter the darkness which haunted his dreams, offering him a brief respite from the torment he dwelled in. All the joy in life which Salazar had previously relished slowly leeched away, leaving only a shell of the friend Godric had known for half a decade.

Godric feared for Salazar. He was aware that Alain shared his concerns, but when Godric voiced his trepidations, his uncle advised patience.

'Give him time,' the Lord of Avalon sighed as he tested transfiguration skills, 'and do not approach him. I fear that if you were to confront him, he may feel harassed. A wounded wolf is much more likely to lash out at a presumed assailant, even if that person only seeks to help!'

'I'm trying to help!' Godric exclaimed indignantly, making Alain smile sadly.

'I know you are,' Alain said, 'I'm certain that even Salazar knows it. But the black mood does not work like that. It clouds your mind, leeching away all sensible thought and robbing you of everything that once made you a man, until only doubt and self-loathing remain. You feel caged, a prisoner to your own mind and incapable of summoning the power to break free. Trust me Godric, I've seen it drive wise men mad. Merlin, I can speak with the wisdom of experience. You may find the help you offer drives him further into despair, maybe even beyond the brink of all reason…'

'Then I do nothing?' Godric cried in frustration. A sudden flare of anger at his helplessness rose up and sparks erupted from his wand, disintegrating the golem Alain had been making him conjure.

'No,' Alain said compassionately, 'would you leave a friend to fight alone during battle? No matter how hard pressed you were or how desperate the fight was? Do you think I would have been able to throw off the shackles of my own despair if Hugh had not been there to aid me? You're a loyal friend, Godric, so keep a close eye on him and be mindful that Salazar isn't in his right mind. Once he has had time to process his grief, the old Salazar will return. Do not forsake him before then.'

Godric nodded grudgingly, although his frustrations remained unsolved, as any unfortunate soul who sparred against him could attest to after numerous bruising bouts. Nevertheless, he heeded his uncle's advice and kept his distance. Hamon did the same, although the tawny-haired young man shared Alain's appraisal of the malaise which had infected his friend. Hamon tolerated Salazar's angst with a good humour which Godric thought bordered upon callous, despite Hamon's assurances that he to shared Godric's apprehension. He even voiced the opinion that Salazar was seeking someone to blame for the misfortune which had befallen him. After all, he had in recent years used Godric as a scapegoat for his own self-doubt.

'You think he blames Rhyannon?' Godric spluttered one night when the two squires had fled to the stables in order to converse freely.

'God, no,' Hamon sighed, 'I think he places all the blame on himself, which is very unlike him. I'd also wager he underestimated how much he cared for Rhyannon and now regrets not appreciating what he had. Perhaps he reckons that he is not worthy of his family name.'

'Why in Merlin's name would he think that?'

'Isn't Salazar a so-called pureblood according to your weird magical traditions?' Hamon asked as Godric nodded, 'blood is important to wizards. Salazar probably thinks that the miscarriage is a sign that his own blood is somehow weak, or at fault for the tragedy. He thinks that in the eyes of many purebloods, the failure for a child of his blood to survive pregnancy means he is inferior to those he considers his peers…'

Godric was shocked by Hamon's perceptiveness. His friend spent so often playing the fool that Godric sometimes forgot that he was capable of incredible foresight and a startling awareness of the thoughts of others. His words certainly rang true. Blood was important to Salazar. He was the last of a long line of pureblood wizards. Now, he was plagued with remorse, not only for the loss of his lover but for failing his bloodline.

'You worry too much,' Hamon finally said, clapping Godric's shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly, 'Lord Alain is right. What Sal needs now is time to grieve. He has a brilliant mind; he doesn't need our help to figure out that he wasn't to blame for this. All we can do is make sure we are there to support him if he ever calls for it. I wouldn't hold out much hope, though; the idiot's always been a stubborn bastard…'

Godric was even more disgruntled than before his talk with Hamon. He despaired that no one could see the danger before them. Before his lover's death, Salazar was composed and extravagant, whereas now he had become a lifeless shell. One sleepless night later, Godric resolved to summon the courage to confront Salazar and rekindle some of the old fire which his friend had once possessed and now threatened to be extinguished.

However, when Godric rose the next dawn and headed to the kitchens before his duties began, he heard the sound of familiar laughter ringing through Avalon's halls. Godric strode into the great hall inquisitively, only to discover Salazar perched against one of the solid oak tables, smiling as he chatted to a small gaggle of servants gathered around him, laughing at his witticisms. When Godric trudged towards him, Salazar's grin widened,

'Morning,' he welcomed his friend, as he summoned a bowl of pottage with a wave of his wand and thrust it into Godric's stunned hands, 'here, eat this before Hamon wakes or they'll be nothing left. They'll be a bloody famine if he doesn't curb his appetite soon.'

Godric gaped at the pottage, before lifting his head to stare dubiously at Salazar,

'Are you alright?'

'Of course,' Salazar replied instantly. When Godric's disbelieving gaze refused to waver, his friend sighed ruefully, 'stop acting like an old maid, Godric. Trust me, I'm better now.' Godric hesitated, still unsure about whether he could trust his friend. Then he exhaled deeply and nodded in acceptance. He grinned and clapped a large hand on Salazar's shoulder,

'Good,' he said earnestly, 'welcome back.'

'Merlin,' Salazar muttered drolly, 'just eat your food before you unman yourself. You'll start crying next. By the way, I'd eat that quickly. Lambert's already cornered me; he needs our help shifting an import of wine from the bailey to the stores. So eat your food whilst we wait for that bloody ox to arrive. You can declare your love for me later.' Godric shoved him in reply, but they were both laughing. Unsurprisingly, Hamon overslept. When he finally reached the table, he looked unkempt and was scratching his arse as he took a seat beside them, an action that he wouldn't have dared to do in Morwenna's scolding presence. He yawned, belched rudely and then began to help himself to a generous portion of Salazar's own meal, ignoring the disgusted looks his friends were giving him.

'Finally stopped moping about then?' he finally said, still chewing on his meal. Godric thought he caught Salazar wincing, although he masked it quickly and his smile stayed in place,

'Yes,' Salazar said amiably, smirking mischievously, 'I had the greatest dream last night. I dreamt that Ella visited me and confessed that I was her most accomplished lover before we celebrated long into the night. It was all very satisfying…'

'Then it _must_ have been a dream,' Hamon scowled, before grudgingly smiling as laughter rang out at his expense, 'I think I preferred you when you were moping about, Sal. I'd forgotten what a bastard you were…'

Salazar's miraculous change in mood continued for many days as the eldest of Alain's squires seemingly returned to his usual disposition. He returned to being impeccably well-groomed and he was soon charming the inhabitants of the Lord of Avalon's household with his former flare and wit, although he stopped short of openly flirting with Avalon's servant and kitchen girls. Salazar also enthusiastically returned to the easy mocking friendship that the three squires shared. Many sighed in relief at the abrupt change, none more so than Godric, who could barely contain his relief as Salazar's encouraging behaviour continued.

However, there were moments when Godric questioned the truth behind Salazar's miraculous return to normality. One occasion stood out, having stirred the young wizards concern for his friend's wellbeing. Godric and Salazar had been lounging in Yusuf's vast library, charged with examining scrolls which talked about the addictive power behind dark magic and how, if misused, it could twist a wizard's heart until all that remained was a pale shadow of the person they had once been. Yusuf was hunched over his well-worn and ink-stained bench, smiling contently as he deciphered an ancient scroll and scribbled new translations of the runes he had spent almost a full year compiling, barely aware of the presence of his two students.

'Is there a way to raise the dead?'

Godric, who had been staring at the stone kelpie and idly doodling on the scrolls he was supposed to be studying, jerked in surprise and almost slipped off his bench when Salazar's voice broke the silence. The scratching of a quill ceased abruptly. Yusuf looked up and held Salazar's gaze for a long time.

'Magic does exist,' Yusuf said slowly, 'which is capable of such deeds. Stories of such magic survive in legend, telling us of gods and heroes who were freed from death's cold clutches and resurrected to fight another day. I have a scroll in my keeping that I translated many years ago, which suggests that the Cauldron of Rebirth, an object rumoured to have been housed on this very island, once possessed the power to safeguard against death. I know of other, _fouler_ , means of delaying death, but I will not speak of them. It is a disreputable practice and only those whose hearts are poisoned by greed and evil dare to do it. Resurrecting the dead is an endeavour driven purely by selfishness, even if it is claimed to be done for _love_.'

Salazar stared back at the old scholar unflinchingly.

'Have you witnessed such a magic?'

'Yes,' Yusuf sighed, 'during my time in the exotic lands beyond the Silk Road, I encountered wraiths that had been prised away from death. I have confronted creatures who can never die, both pale beings who feast on the blood of the living and corpses resurrected by the dark powers of necromancy who wander mindlessly like beasts, with all memories of their former lives forgotten. Such things still haunt me, for they knew no peace. It is a pitiable condition and a curse I wouldn't even use against my worst enemies.'

'So it is considered evil…' Salazar pondered quietly,

'Cast it from your mind Salazar,' Yusuf suddenly snapped, staring unblinkingly at the squire. Godric had never seen the scholar exhibit such anger and the hair rose on the nape of his neck. Not even on the days when he would repeatedly catch Godric daydreaming during his lectures would he be driven to rage like this.

'But…' Salazar tried indignantly,

'No,' Yusuf hissed, slamming a hand against the bench. The force of the blow startled both young men and accidently toppled a small vat of precious ink over the scrolls Yusuf had been translating. For once, the old scholar ignored the desecration of his work to stare balefully at Salazar, who wisely held his tongue.

'I pity you for what you have lost, Salazar. Every death is a tragedy, especially when the young are taken from us. But bringing that young girl back will come at the gravest of costs,' Yusuf growled, 'such a wraith will bear no semblance to the girl you loved. Like those who use dark magic to seek immortality, the life of any wizard who dares to tamper with necromancy is forfeit. They are left to wander the world, _vagabonds_ , their souls fractured and damaged beyond hope of repair. Leave the poor girl to her slumber, Salazar, it is where she belongs now. In time, you will come to accept this…'

Salazar had paled with each word that Yusuf uttered, but the look the squire gave the scholar bordered upon defiance. However, it didn't last and eventually the younger man looked away with a defeated sigh. Godric released a relieved breath as the tension finally seeped from the room. Yusuf nodded, content that Salazar had understood the lesson he tried to impart and had curbed the younger man's curiosity in the dark arts. But when Yusuf had once again returned to his parchments, Godric glanced at Salazar and saw a fire in his friend's eyes and a resolve which unnerved him greatly.

Godric continued to keep a diligent eye on Salazar and he soon discovered that he wasn't the only member of Avalon's household who did so. Hugh was no fool and his stringent gaze watched Salazar closely, having once before lived with a wizard who had wallowed in the throes of depression. Whilst Godric's concerns were dismissed by most, the squire could tell that Hugh approved of his vigilance. Others were less helpful and the thought of taking his worries to Ella, often a wise ear for the household to take their problems, didn't even cross Godric's mind, for their friendship was still blighted by awkwardness. Besides, Ella's opinion of Salazar had soured drastically in the aftermath of Rhyannon's death and she believed that the young wizard had been the cause of it.

Once, the whore may have confronted Salazar openly. She had become more subdued of late and had stopped offering her services as a whore, much to Bayard's distress. Despite her fears, Alain neither appeared angered by her choice nor displayed any inclination to expel her from Avalon. Instead, he left Ella free to pursue her skill in herbal lore without interference.

However, her more reserved countenance did not hinder her cutting tongue, which seemed to increase in spitefulness with each passing day. Unfortunately, Salazar was her most common target, her disdain for him having multiplied tenfold since Rhyannon's death. But others did not escape her new born temper. She had even resorted to lashing out at a besotted and undeserving Hamon, calling him an oaf and the son of a whore. The squire sulked for a week and it fell to Hugh to bravely intervene when no one else dared to. The castellan reprimanded Ella sharply for her cruel words and after weathering her fury, ordered her to stick to her potions and herbs rather than encouraging idle gossip. Ella had been furious at the disparaging tone Hugh had used when talking about her skills and when she remained mutinous, the threat of a beating spurred a reluctant retreat for Avalon's whore.

It had been a long time since they had seen either Ella or Hugh so angry. Hugh didn't speak of the threat again, but Godric, although he thought the threat unnecessary and harsh, had the sense to suspect that Ella's insult to Hamon's mysterious mother had frayed the castellan's temper and driven it to an intensity that he did not often reveal.

'Truthfully, I wouldn't dare confront Ella,' Belin confessed to Godric when the young man was helping him clean his small chapel. Godric was thankful to have been given this duty. Avalon had been struck by storms blown inland from the distant sea and the whole of Alain's fiefdom had been drenched and threatened with floods. Godric was glad to be free from any errand that involved going outside and he pitied Hamon, who Lambert was keeping miserably occupied in the bailey after the steward had caught him raiding Avalon's larder, 'she's very passionate about the women's lore she practices. After all, she's more than just a whore and her knowledge of such lore is why Alain decided to hire her services. She is a valuable member of our household.'

This was why even Belin turned a blind eye to the wise-women practices Ella dispensed to the folk of the marshes. When Godric inquired into the reasons why the monk, the Christian God's representative in Avalon, ignored it, Belin's answer was simple. He viewed the health of God's flock as paramount, both spiritually and physically, and as long as they remained pious in their worship then he had no right to interfere.

'Do not voice this abroad,' Belin chuckled wryly, 'it saddens me that many of my brothers in the Church do not share my opinion. They would clamour for my dismissal and brand me a heretic if they learned of it. My place in Avalon is already unorthodox enough for some, so let us say nothing of it.'

'You're the best priest I've ever known Belin,' Godric claimed, surprised that a monk as pious as Belin could disobey the law of the Church.

'You've only known two,' Belin chuckled, 'and the other is a vile creature. I may not have the largest congregation or the purest soul to ever read the scriptures. I am what I am and who God wills me to be. Being here in Avalon is a blessing I never foresaw and very holy place. I am content with it.'

'Even when you share it with heathens and whores?' Godric asked cheekily.

'Especially because I'm in the company of heathens and whores,' Belin said with a wink, 'it's far more entertaining. Besides, I like Ella. She's a good woman, despite her thorny exterior. I'm sure you've discovered this already mind, considering that she can barely seem to look at you these days?'

Godric blanched at the shrewd look the monk gave him. The young wizard tried to dismiss it as a fanciful tale, but his unease was obvious under Belin's disbelieving scrutiny and with a reserved sigh, the guilt-ridden wizard sheepishly admitted to Ella's recent night-time foray. Surprisingly, rather than haranguing Godric with a moralising lecture, the monk burst into laughter.

'So she finally got her claws into you?'

'Not exactly,' Godric admitted, reddening, 'I turned her away.'

Belin paused in surprise, before snorting loudly,

'I'd wager she didn't like that,'

'No,' Godric agreed with a rueful smile. He would never admit it, but his restraint had been tested to its limit by Ella's persistent attempts to seduce him. Despite his loyalty to Hamon and his admiration for Rowena, Godric doubted whether his willpower could have resisted Ella's advances if she had visited his bedchamber again.

'Well,' Belin chuckled, 'you can now amongst the very few who have spurned her. What a venerable Galahad you are. Ella seems to cast spells more powerful than any I've seen a wizard cast on passionate young men. If I didn't know she was a Muggle, then I'd suspect her of using magic to bewitch her lovers.'

'I thought the Church did not believe in magic?'

'How could I not, having lived here for years. Even Christians believe in magic,' Belin told him, 'what else is a miracle if not magic? Isn't your Merlin is now revered as a deity.'

'But because of my magic, Black-Hollow's priest thought I was the spawn of the devil,' Godric pointed out lightly, discomforted at the thought of that vile creature. A reckoning was due with the man who had made his childhood miserable, Godric had promised himself that much.

'There are men of the cloth,' Belin finally said, his good humour replaced by a scowl, 'whose faith is determined by how much wealth and influence they can amass. They exploit Christ's teachings and manipulate the will of God for their own ends. Petty men fear what they cannot understand. They fear magic because they cannot control it. So they seek to turn people against wizards by denouncing them as heretics or heathen or enemies of God. They breed intolerance, prejudice, and hate like the plague, all in return for power, which in turn breeds violence and persecution. Many needless battles and bloodshed have been done in the name of God, and I don't doubt that there are a lot more ahead of us. Sadly, the light of God walks hand in hand with the evil of men. This priest of Black-Hollow is just such a man…'

Godric sensed that the monk was not finished and so did not interrupt him. He contemplated what Belin had said and his admiration for the learned monk grew. Belin was more compassionate than any other man he knew and only Helga could rival him in Godric's eyes. The monk was the best Christian that Godric knew and the young wizard was not afraid to tell him so.

'What praise that is,' Belin said with a booming laugh and without a hint of mocking. He smiled at the younger man, 'but I doubt I'm deserving of it. I merely strive to show how well magic and religion can co-exist together; how they can live peacefully, without resorting to hate and violence. There are good priests in this world, just like there are good and evil wizards. Not every heart is blighted by fear and selfishness. There are wizards direct their prayers to God and others who worship far more ancient deities. Did you know that there have been hundreds of gods and goddesses since the dawn of time? Of course you do! Wizards have a remarkable habit of recording every facet of their history in the minutest detail, no matter how insignificant. Take Yusuf for instance, who has spent a lifetime collecting the knowledge and histories of your kind. He has now amassed treasures far more valuable than any hoard of gold, for without knowledge we are no more than beasts. When the Romans sailed from Britain and those left behind were overrun with enemies, men were forced to take up swords and write their history on the battlefield instead of on skins and parchment. So much of our history was forgotten, spoken rather than written, until history became indecipherable from myth and men manipulated it for their own ends.'

'Sadly, opinion is shifting. The Church fears your world. They cannot control wizards and with little magic of their own, it chooses to fear you. The Church now views wizards as a threat to their influence or rival for the ear of kings. It may be tomorrow or it could be in a hundred years, but one day they will summon the courage and wield the influence to turn their followers against wizards, and I fear that it will be a time of great tragedy.'

'Won't you be barred from your afterlife?' Godric probed curiously, 'for living amongst wizards and pagans.'

'Some say so,' Belin admitted sadly, 'but whilst God can be cruel, he also loves. I think that by listening to my heart and staying true to the teachings of Christ, then I'd wager I'd have a better chance of reaching God's kingdom than those bigots who poison it. That is why I encourage my flock to keep to the ideals of tolerance, love and charitable endeavour. It is also why I am content to turn a blind eye to Ella's practices and to the mischief of the household. Look at your friend Hamon, who I suspect has been committing the sin of Onan by those lewd murals in the cellars for many years. As long as I know that their hearts remain unspoiled, such trifling affairs pale in significance to the true tortures which can ravage a soul.'

'So anyone can reach this afterlife, as long as their hearts and deeds are in keeping with the will of your God?'

'I wish it was so,' Belin told him, 'but the world is far more complex than the line between good and evil, or love and hate. That boundary will forever be blurred. Evil men can still love, whilst the hearts of the good can be corrupted by hate. I do not envy God the task of deciding who may enter his kingdom and who is destined for the flames. Truthfully, it grieves me that anyone can be barred from the glories of heaven, despite committing sins like suicide or worshipping other gods.'

'You cannot reach heaven if you take your own life?' Godric exclaimed incredulously,

'By God,' Belin grumbled, shaking his head in surprise, 'your ignorance astounds me. I can finally sympathise with Yusuf, who has despaired about you for years. I've told you before that those who take their own lives are barred from being buried in consecrated ground, for all life is sacred to Christians and must be revered. As a result, they are forbidden from entering Heaven. I believe they deserve our pity rather than our condemnation, for it must take a very dark madness to drive someone to suicide. Sadly, history is scattered with such tragedies. Have I never recounted the tale of Eira's Fall?'

Godric didn't answer and simply stared blankly at the monk, Belin sighed in exasperation.

'I don't suppose you do, seeing as it doesn't involve swords and battles,' he chuckled, 'it's the name given to the great crag that scars Avalon. You've probably come across it in your explorations over the years.'

Godric may not have recognised the name, but he knew the crag. The Belin was right; the young wizard had spent many hours clambering over the crag's rocks, heedless of the risk posed by falling onto the rocks below.

'I see that you do know it,' Belin said with a wry smile, 'probably because you've been doing something you shouldn't have. Despite Avalon been a place of otherworldly magic and pagan tradition, its name comes from a Christian. Eira was a saintly Cornish woman and a devout follower of a group of saints who were martyred by the ruler of some long forgotten kingdom. This was centuries ago when the light of Christianity was spreading and the old pagan ways of worship were being forced to the fringes of Britain. Yet, Avalon stood apart as a stronghold against this tide, a beacon of ancient belief and magic. Christians saw it as the home of wizards and malicious spirits, untouched by the reach of this upstart God.

'Eira was determined to spread the word of Christ and she alone had the daring to venture into the marshes to convert the fae who lived in Avalon's shadow. It must have been sheer luck which guided Eira past the Ferryman to Avalon without falling foul of the creatures who would feast upon her. Miraculously, she reached the Isle unscathed and was granted an audience with the Lord of Avalon.

'But Avalon has not always been a tolerant place and the Lord of Avalon was prepared to martyr her. Surges in persecution and fanaticism had an ugly habit of following mass conversions with the savagery of a plague struck army and the Lord of Avalon was determined to keep such bloodshed beyond the borders of his realm. Yet, like many wizards, he was curious about the magic this new religion wielded and so instead of putting Eira to death, he challenged her to prove its power. She was given three days to convert the people of Avalon. If she failed, then she'd be fed to his hounds.

'Eira did not fear martyrdom. It is believed she yearned for it, for nothing was a holier example of your devoutness to God than being put to death because of your faith. She spent three days spreading Christ's word to the pagans, but to no avail. They remained unmoved by her sermons and content with their wild gods and magical practices. Yet, Eira was not dismayed and in the dying hours of the final day, she managed to convert one man to Christianity.'

'So she wasn't fed to the hounds?' Godric asked,

'No,' Belin said sadly, 'but neither did she win the challenge. The convert was a poor creature who had long been subservient to the throes of madness and so was considered barely a man at all, reduced to a pitiful existence as nothing more than an animal by madness and the treatment of others. The Lord of Avalon dismissed her victory and threatened her with death. Eira, as strident a woman as it was possible to be in those dark days, claimed that she could demonstrate her God's power by performing a miracle, for there was no magic other than the will of God. She said that she would willingly go to Avalon's highest peak and leap from the precipice, so fervent was her belief that her God would save her from death and make her soar like an eagle. The Lord of Avalon was amused by this and agreed to the fateful leap, claiming that if she survived then all the wizards and pagans of Avalon would convert.'

'Did she fail?'

'The poor woman splattered her brains all over the rocks.' Belin admitted, 'Unfortunately, when the Lord of Avalon's vassals took her broken corpse to the nearest church, the holy men refused to bury her in their sacred grounds, claiming that because she had willingly leaped from the precipice, she was a suicide and so barred from being buried in consecrated grounds. Forsaken, she was taken back to Avalon, whose people, impressed by the bravery she had shown in life, buried her in a grave befitting the traditions of the religion she had died for. The Lord of Avalon renamed the crag in her honour, so that the memory of her courage would be remembered long after her bones had turned to dust. Sadly, the crag has never lost its affiliation with suicide. Many others have ended their lives by leaping from its peak.'

'How could anyone do such a thing?' Godric asked. He could not understand how someone could ever take their own life.

'They are driven by a madness that purges their mind of all joy and numbs them from all happiness. I have met many who have been afflicted with such a sickness and in truth, I pity them greatly.'

'Now I think about it,' Belin mused as Godric turned to look at him, 'you're not the first person who has asked me about Eira's Fall recently. Salazar inquired about the tale. Said he'd heard about it from Bayard and was curious about the name's origins. I thought it was strange really, for Bayard's more disdainful of the Church than any man I've ever known. I'd never have suspected such a brute was so knowledgeable in the history of Avalon…'

The rest of Belin's speech was lost upon Godric. The squire fell silent, frozen in place as a dawning realisation suddenly descended upon him. Why would Salazar inquire about a landmark that had little relevance to wizards, yet had become adopted as a place favoured by those who wished to take their own lives. Godric's blood ran cold and his face paled. There were many things which could drive a person to suicide. Terrible afflictions, shame and a misguided belief in their own unworthiness could all cause despair and even the stoutest hearts could fall victim to it. It had been an overwhelming guilt over his part in the Harrying which had led Alain to attempt to take his own life. Godric's mind turned to Salazar and the misfortune which had recently befallen him. Could the loss of a loved one tip a man over the edge? Godric remembered how his father had come perilously close to it after the deaths of his wife and favourite son. Especially if that man thought that he was the cause of it?

Realising that his companion had been silent for a time, Belin turned and was taken aback when Godric discovered that the young wizard had disappeared, leaving only a stunned silence in his wake.

Godric bounded through Avalon's halls until he finally reached Salazar's bedchamber, where he found the heavy oak door unlocked. Strange, for both young wizards had learned during their time in Avalon the necessity of keeping their private quarters charmed shut in an effort to ward against Hamon's incessant pranking. His heart hammering, Godric pried the lock open gently and cautiously stepped into the chamber. It was eerily silent, even devoid of the hissing of the pet snakes Salazar kept hidden here. As always, it was in pristine condition, the mirrors which had been so brutally violated were now mended seamlessly with magic. Godric slowly turned to the feathered mattress that Salazar used as a bed, only to find an emerald green cloak sitting neatly on the piled sheets with his wand laying unattended beside it.

The young wizard cursed. The forlorn wand had confirmed his worst fears. Salazar was very proud of his magical heritage and saw his wand as the symbol of his blood purity. He would never discard it, not unless he felt that the time had come when he would no longer need it. Godric growled, unable to contain his rising fury. The air about him crackled and was soon followed by a loud crack as the mirror closest to him shattered. Disregarding the shards that protruded from his clenched fist and breathing heavily, he tried to gather his thoughts.

He remembered the meager meal the two friends had shared that morning and the strange smile Salazar had given him when they had parted to complete their daily errands. He noted how Salazar appeared oddly detached, saying little and seemingly content to enjoy the good company Godric provided. Salazar had patted his arm in farewell, but his hand had lingered momentarily on Godric's shoulder and the younger wizard suddenly realised that the flinch which had crossed his features was from grief rather than anything Godric had initially misinterpreted it for. It was a fleeting glimpse of the anguish and self-loathing which still ravaged Salazar's soul and Godric had been blind to it.

Godric did not linger. The servants jumped in surprise and fright as Godric dashed through Avalon's halls and into the rain drenched bailey, drawing curious glances from Lambert, who as tyrannically overseeing the punishment a mud-splattered Hamon had merited. Godric ignored them all as he sprinted from the gate, bounding past the grave and ancient sentinels which guarded the stronghold's drawbridge. In that moment, nothing mattered more to Godric than reaching Eira's Fall as fast as his legs could carry him.

He burst through the peaceful glades, leaping past scratching branches which had been stripped bare of all their summer foliage by the stormy autumn winds. A flock of carrion birds, slumbering after feasting upon sprites and pixies, squawked irritably at the disturbance from their tree top castles, before springing into the air in a mad flurry of wings. Godric brushed aside the windblown feathers which fell about him like black snow, only to curse as he slipped on a moss-strewn bolder, almost losing his balance and falling into a spluttering pool. Waterfowl scurried away from his flailing feet, whilst the native fairies darted after his lumbering body, nipping furiously at his skin to show their displeasure. They went unnoticed by Godric, whose mind was solely fixed on reaching Eira's Fall where he was certain he would find Salazar. If luck was with him, then Salazar would still be there; if not, then he was certain that he would find a corpse instead.

Godric skidded to an abrupt halt when he reached the stone slabs which dotted the summit of Eira's Fall. A sigh of relief rushed from his lungs, for Salazar stood alone upon the crag's peak. The older wizard was perched upon the summit, staring out towards the distant northern hills which were veiled by the blanket of rain-soaked clouds that hovered over Avalon's expanse of marshland. He seemed oblivious to the rocks beneath him, which pointed heavenwards like bright spearheads. Willowy branches and roots curved about the rocks, reaching out as if the pits of the underworld clawed at him and tried to draw Salazar down into their dark depths.

'Salazar,' Godric called out. The sudden shout startled his friend from his pensive reverie. Salazar's eyes widened, his surprise at Godric's presence evident. But he did not turn to look at him.

'Godric!' Salazar exclaimed, his shock swiftly giving way to a stubborn resolve, 'what are you doing here?'

'What do you think I'm doing?' Godric growled furiously, 'I'm here to stop you from being a bloody fool!'

Salazar glared mulishly at the clouds which surrounded them,

'How did you know I'd be here?'

'I was speaking with Belin,' Godric admitted as nonchalantly as he could, still fighting to keep a tight hold the temper which threatened to explode from him, 'about the Christian God. He mentioned what banned his God's followers from their afterlife and Eira came up. He said that you had already shown an interest in this place. I may not have the swiftest mind, but even I could guess what motivated you. Abandoning your wand only proved it. The Salazar I know would never do that.'

'It's too late,' Salazar sighed resignedly as he shook his head, 'I have made my choice.'

'So that's it then,' Godric snapped, 'the _great_ Salazar has chosen and we must all abide by his will. That's a really good choice, Sal, flinging yourself from the cliff. Throwing away your life for nothing! Stop being a selfish bastard.'

'Stop it,' Salazar snapped, suddenly enraged by Godric's sarcasm, 'what life? Try to convince me why my life is worth living?'

'Have you thought about your friends?' Godric replied, 'what about Hamon and me? We swore an oath to be brothers and sealed it with blood. Does that mean nothing to you, you arse? What about Lord Alain? Or Morwenna? Would you so carelessly throw aside all they have given you, or should Lord Alain have just left you on the banks of the Thames, for starvation and disease to take you and for your bones top become fodder for gulls? The Salazar I know is a brave and good-hearted man; he would not give into this madness…'

'Madness,' Salazar chuckled darkly, 'it is the darkest madness of all…'

'You have the strongest mind of us all, Sal,' Godric pressed him, 'there is no madness that you cannot overcome. Come down from the rocks. Live!'

Salazar flinched slightly at Godric's speech and the younger wizard heard the rattle of loose rocks cascading down the jagged crag.

'Live?' Salazar said quietly, barely loud enough for his friend to hear over the patter of falling rain, 'she wanted to live. She told me that she didn't want to die. I watched her tears fall and could do nothing. As her death drew closer, she began to ask me to live. That was the last thing she ever said to me. She lay at the threshold of death, and all she was concerned about was me.'

'It does not surprise me,' Godric said, 'Rhyannon always had a caring soul. It was a brilliant thing to behold. Do you really think she would have wanted it to come to this, Sal? Do you really think this is worthy of her memory?'

Salazar didn't answer. Instead, he cast his eyes to the rocks below and remained that way, so perilously close to the crag's edge that Godric feared one strong gust of wind would catch him and cause his friend to fall, whether he wished it to or not.

'If you do this Salazar,' Godric tried again, his anger and fear erupting from him in a roar, 'if you take this leap, then I swear that I'll do what Yusuf warned us against. I'll do everything in my power to bring you back, using the darkest magic I can wield, only so that I can kill you again with my own hands!'

Salazar finally turned to regard his friend in surprise. It was a bold statement and Salazar felt an unlooked for chuckle stir within his breast at the absurdity of someone as noble as Godric threatening him with dark magic. His amusement died before it could escape his lips. One glance at the younger wizard was enough to convince Salazar that Godric was being deadly serious.

'It is the brave choice,' Salazar said weakly,

'It is the easy choice,' Godric roared again, his emerald eyes blazing fiercely, 'you are running from your grief and fleeing the guilt you feel when you should turn and face it. Alain did not raise us to be cowards. The right choice is to fight it!'

'And what then?' Salazar cried out, 'it is easy enough for the bravest of the brave to say it, but less so for a man crippled by doubt. That is what I am Godric, a coward. Whatever bravery which once burned in my heart has flickered and died. I am dishonoured…unmanned. I am nothing, a wraith who could not protect those who he had sworn to defend. I swore that I'd protect her; swore that I would do all I could to shield her and our child from harm. Yet, it was I who gave her the gravest hurt of all.'

'You're being an idiot,' Godric began but was interrupted by his friend, who carried on as if he hadn't heard the younger wizard speak.

'It is the honourable choice,' Salazar breathed, 'let me do this, let me die with some semblance of bravery whilst it is still there…whilst I can still be considered a man.'

'This is not bravery,' Godric finally exploded in frustration, 'standing before the might of magical Britain to save my life was brave. Facing up to the responsibility for your actions and accepting Rhyannon's pregnancy…that was brave! Letting this poison consume you without even trying to fight is not brave, Sal, it is cowardice…'

'Don't you understand, Godric? It is still lurking there, I can sense it. It neither sleeps nor goes away. It lingers like a sickness, robbing me of my strength and sapping all the self-belief from my body.'

'Then why have you not sought Morwenna? Or others like Isolde and Ella have wisdom when it comes to healing?'

'It is not that kind of sickness. This isn't the foulness that stirs within your bowls or the vile seeds which can grow until they consume your body and render you helpless against the wretched agony of your final days…'

'Then explain the nature of this sickness to me?' Godric told him exasperatedly, 'surely talking about it could lead to understanding the cause…'

'Don't you think that I've done that?' Salazar snapped, 'do you not think I have spent sleepless nights contemplating its cause and trying to rectify it. I thought that I was healed and I tried desperately to believe it. Do you know how helpless I felt when I discovered that it refused to die, remaining dormant, only to stir to life when I least expected it,

'It becomes wearisome and I feel like I've been caught and battered by a sea storm. It swells like a mighty wave before crashing down on a defenceless shore. Then it recedes, returning to the sea to await the next tempest. There is no fighting it, no hope of defence or escape. I feel as if I am shackled to the shore like a pebble, unable to do anything but slowly yield to the storm's brutality, hoping that each wave does not drag me away.

Throughout Salazar's impassioned speech, Godric continued to watch his friend in sympathy. He had suspected that such despair lay hidden behind Salazar's confident façade. Yet, even he had not expected to discover such venomous self-loathing lurking there, slowing leeching Salazar of all that made him who he was.

'The worst part,' Salazar admitted gloomily, 'is that I can see a light on the horizon, a bright place that I yearn to one day reach. A place where I can be the man I aspire to be, finally free of the doubt which restrains me. But like that pebble, caught in the sea's swell, I have no means of getting there.'

Salazar sighed heavily, before shaking his head tiredly,

'It is pointless,' he murmured, 'you do not know what it feels like!'

'You're right,' Godric snapped and there was anger in his voice, 'I don't know what it is like to suffer from this sickness. But you are far from alone in your fears and doubts.'

'Really?' Salazar said sarcastically, 'I did not think you could feel fear?'

'You know I do,' Godric growled slowly, struggling to leash his rage in the face of his friend's scorn, 'for years now, my dreams have been haunted by the same spectre; a towering, blood-soaked horror born to do battle and to which I have no hope of defeating. Each time he comes, I awake before his sword or spell can strike, consumed by fear and drenched in tears and sweat. At first, I thought it was my fear of Bellême, haunting me in some spectral form, for I could not tell who it was behind the mask of his helmet. But on the night of my duel with Killer-Bjorn, the spectre removed his helm and I learned his true identity.'

'Who was he?' Salazar asked softly, although he was listening intently.

'It was me,' Godric confessed, 'the spectre was me, or who I assume I could be if I lose control and let my rage consume me. We both know that I have the fury of a berserk in me. It is why I am so wary to use the dark arts, for I think that if I did so then I may never be able to come back, and so will become a creature like Bellême. We share more similarities than I'm willing to admit and suffer from the same curse, a darkness in our hearts which is capable of great violence and evil. If I don't control it, then I fear that one day I may become the man I hate…'

A silence fell between the two friends, with Salazar staring down from aloft the Fall's peak.

'Why are you telling me this?'

'I don't know. I think that I'm just trying to say that all young people have doubts, Salazar,' Godric sighed, 'we all qualities that we hate or dwell in remorse because of past mistakes. You need to fight it, Sal, so that it does not come to rule you. As your sworn brother, I believe that Salazar Slytherin is a brilliant wizard, whose future will be filled with glory. But you are also a man like any other. We all are, and we must learn to embrace our flaws. Hugh told me that I should channel that anger, and it helped me survive against Killer-Bjorn. Maybe you should do the same, and let it inspire you to greater deeds.'

'I don't know if I can,' Godric heard Salazar whisper in a quivering voice as the falling rain cloaked his tears.

'You can,' Godric growled passionately, 'I know you can. You are not alone Salazar. Why not let your friends shoulder some of the burden for you?'

'Is it worth it?' Salazar asked blandly, 'when the despair and hate will only resurface another day?'

'Then you will fight it again,' said Godric, 'all battles are hard. But we still fight on until we are victorious. You will rebuild the breaches in your mind, Sal, so that you will defend it when the time comes. Nor will you be alone, for we all swore an oath to stand by one another and only death can break such a bond. Now please, come down from there and don't throw your life away.'

Salazar didn't answer. Instead, he looked out over the sea of mist which clung to the marshes. He stayed that way for a long time and with each passing heartbeat, Godric felt his body tense, ready to pounce at his friend if Salazar chose to give in to the darkness which clouded his mind. Time slowed as they remained still, heedless of the falling rain which soaked them.

Slowly, as if each moment took an agonising eternity, Salazar shifted away from the precipice. Godric could barely contain the guttural sigh of relief which he quickly expelled at the sight of his friend turning away from such a tragic fate. When his friend reached him, Godric was unable to withstand the urge to wrap his arms around Salazar and embrace him fiercely. Salazar collapsed into his friend's arms and tears sprang from his eyes, streaming unhindered down his cheeks as all the grief, that had consumed him since the recent misfortune had befallen him was finally expelled from his body. He wept for Rhyannon, whose life had been cut so tragically short. He wept for the unborn child which had been lost and lastly, he wept for himself, over his own regrets and how closely he had been driven to the brink.

'I can't,' he choked out, 'I won't let it take me like this. It is not my fate. It is not my fate.'

Godric held him throughout, trying to share some of the pain his friend felt. He did not care for the rain, the passing time or the errands he had discarded. All he knew was that the broken man in his arms needed him and only death could stop him from fulfilling this duty.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Godric asked him quietly, careful not to expose the bitter hurt and betrayal he felt and kept well hidden,

'You're Godric,' Salazar shrugged, 'strong and unyielding. I didn't want you to think that I was weak; that I was a lesser man. Merlin, look at me…I weep like a kitchen girl!'

'Some of the strongest people I know are women,' Godric pointed out, his smile returning, 'and my judgment of them does not change if I see them weep. Do you think that I wasn't overcome with tears when my mother died? Or when I was consumed with guilt after killing Rurik Ragnarsson? I'm far from perfect Sal!'

'Helga said the same,' Salazar admitted, before adding as an afterthought at Godric's disbelief, 'she's been writing to me a lot of late, offering what support she could.'

Godric winced. Helga was a loyal and compassionate friend, but she could be callously blunt and he couldn't imagine her treating Salazar's self-pity with the sympathy the young man may have hoped for. Godric said as much, provoking a grimace from his friend.

'It wasn't as bad as you might think,' he shrugged before the flicker of a ghostly smile hinted at the return of a semblance of his old mischief. She certainly harangued me and poured scorn upon my pity. But it is not me that should be wary of her. Apparently, you haven't been responding to her messages as much as she'd like. I think Hamon has been ignoring them altogether. I did tell her that I wasn't sure if Hamon could read, but you have no such excuse. Going by her threats, I'd advise rectifying it if I was you…'

Silence fell between them, although it lacked the comfort they usually felt in each other's presence. Godric could tell that it was due to a sense of humiliation that Salazar felt. So the younger wizard cuffed him hard about the head. It would be a long time before Salazar recovered all his old lust for life, but it wasn't too soon to start.

'Stop being an idiot,' he ordered him ruefully, 'and that's for scaring me.'

'Merlin,' Salazar grumbled, rubbing his sore head as a small smile flickered across his lips, 'did you have to hit me?'

'Yes,' Godric said, before grinning fiendishly, 'just wait until you face me in the tiltyard.'

Salazar gulped. Then his eyes suddenly widened,

'What happened to your hand?' Godric looked down at his fist, surprised to see rain-diluted blood streaming from many small cuts. It was the younger man's turn to look sheepish.

'I may have had an altercation with one of your mirrors,' he muttered, causing Salazar to frown.

'Really?'

'Can you blame me?' Godric shrugged, 'I thought one of my brothers had done something stupid.'

'Lucky he didn't,' Salazar said softly, 'I'd imagine he'd have fared far worse than the mirror if he had.'

The silence became strained.

'Sorry,' Salazar finally mumbled. Godric laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, once again forgetting his strength and almost sending his friend sprawling across the sharp rocks.

'There's no need for that,' said Godric, beaming as Salazar smiled ruefully back at him, rubbing his bruised shoulder, 'it's in the past. Now come on, let's go and find Hamon. Without you there to lance it, his ego is in danger of inflating his head to perilous proportions and I'm getting bored of being the butt of his jokes…'

'We can't have that,' Salazar chuckled quietly, finally revealing a rueful smile, 'but it does sound like fun and I don't think I can ever grow tired of gutting that idiot's ego.'

They began to trudge back towards Avalon's white-stoned keep, their boots squelching on every stone.

'Don't tell anyone,' Salazar finally said, looking at his friend beseechingly, 'please?'

Godric smiled warmly at him, before draping a heavy arm over Salazar's shoulders affectionately,

'Never…'


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three: Kings and Omens

**Kings and Omens**

With the winter solstice fast approaching, a change was implemented to Godric's daily routine. Alain suddenly decided to take a greater interest in instructing his squires in the duties of landed knights, teaching them the laws and rights of both his Muggle and magical tenants. Alain insisted that the trio join him when he distributed justice as the Lord of Avalon, ordering them to accompany him on great tours of his estates. Godric was thankful for the opportunity, as it gave them the chance to escape from the confining boundaries of Avalon and the melancholy which still lay heavy on it since Rhyannon's death.

Godric had long ago become accustomed to Alain's stature as a fair and beloved magnate. Yet, he was still surprised by the level of affection the local people felt for their magical overlord. Alain treated all the inhabitants of Avalon's fiefdom, whether a knight, villein, Muggle or wizard, with the same courteous respect and polite interest, distributing the King's laws fairly and being loved for it. It was a remarkable contrast to Alain's reception amongst his own kind during Lughnasadh, where he was equally feared and admired. During this time, Godric scrutinised his uncle closely, recognising his incredible fortune to have the chance to learn as much as he could from a great lord of the realm. After all, although he remained estranged from his father and hadn't seen the man since being fostered in Alain's household, Godric was still the heir to Black-Hollow and as aspiring knights, Alain judged that his squires would benefit from the experience, for the day may come when they needed to understand responsibility lords owed to their people.

However, these additional responsibilities rendered them all more exhausted than ever. Hugh still spent hours drilling them mercilessly in Avalon's tiltyard and as days turned to weeks, Godric's became more reputable as a dual-wielder until only Hugh could match him. Observing him closely, Alain admitted that he'd be reluctant to face Godric in battle. Years spent under Hugh's punishing tutelage had rendered Godric just as comfortable with an axe, lance or flail as he was with a sword or wand, despite being the youngest member of Alain's retinue, there were few who could beat him with a weapon in his hand. During those weeks, Godric basked in the praise of his companions and the lustful glances of Avalon's enamoured serving maids.

His return from Ynys Mon as a victoriously dualist was the catalyst for a startling change in how these young women saw Alain's nephew and it soon became commonplace for Godric to find his errands waylaid by flirtatious remarks or determined attempts to gain his attention. The serving maids began to shadow his footsteps whilst a surprising amount managed to find a spare moment to gather at the tiltyard and watch on fondly as Godric trained. Unfortunately, their efforts only served to increase the ire of Avalon's castellan and reinforce Godric's bumbling awkwardness around women. Morwenna despaired at the behaviour, but Godric began to suspect that the Lady of Avalon was secretly amused by it and was intent on sating her curiosity as to why Godric dismissed the pleasures that most young noblemen jumped out.

However, Godric's continued rejections had no effect on the most headstrong of Morwenna's maids. Sannan was a new arrival at Avalon, the bastard daughter of one of Alain's Muggle tenants, who had been sent to the Isle of Apples by her ageing father because he could no longer afford to keep her. Her noble upbringing was obvious, for she walked with a confidence many servants lacked, her head high and a will as strong as iron. She also possessed a great fondness for Godric.

Despite her flirtatious remarks and coy glances going unanswered by a young wizard who loathed his new found popularity, Sannan refused to be disheartened. Her attempts at seducing Godric became bolder, with her most daring exploit coming when she spied on the squire whilst he was bathing in the seclusion of his private chamber. They soon discovered that she had no talent for spying when a dozing Godric was startled awake when the girl accidently stumbled upon a carelessly discarded pile of Yusuf's precious scrolls and fell with a shriek into a collection of cauldrons he had been tasked with cleaning.

Sannan shrieked in surprise as the curtains she'd been hovering behind were wrenched apart to reveal an equally surprised and very nude young wizard. They both cried out and Godric was sent tumbling from the tub in a tangle of limbs. Both youths blushed fiercely. Nevertheless, the maid's impulsive nature would not be denied and she hastily blurted out a faltering proposal that if he was not averse to it, she could join him whilst he bathed. Godric, flushing with embarrassment, practically yelped at her insinuation and hurriedly exclaimed that her assistance would not be necessary. Guilt flooded him when the girl burst into tears and fled the bedchamber, narrowly avoiding an inquisitive Salazar, who had come to investigate the source of the raised voices.

Salazar's roaring laughter had echoed down the keep's halls as Godric retold the tale, before reassuring his younger friend that no word of it would pass his lips. Naturally, the whole of Avalon knew before the day was up and Godric was forced to suffer relentless mocking from his friends, whilst his nights became disturbed by unlooked for dreams of less chaste outcomes to Sannan's brazen offer. He may not desire to bed the girl, but these dreams often left him restless and unable to sleep. The failed endeavour didn't dampen Sannan's relentless spirit and she soon returned to haunting his footsteps, much to Godric's rising discomfort.

Godric was not the only member of Alain's retinue who prospered under Alain's stringent mentoring. Both Salazar and Hamon responded well to the growing intensity of their training. Salazar became fast and his initial reflexes at the start of a dual almost outmatched Godric's, whilst Hamon seemed to grow stronger every day as Bayard's brawling influence began to add a new quality to the Muggle's skills. No one knew the exact reasons for this increase, as Alain chose to only confide in Hugh. As a result, many suspected that they were preparing the retinue for a coming war.

This theory was given more credence when it was discovered that Alain had sent word across the kingdom, requesting the presence of any man or woman who desired to join the esteemed retinue of the Lord of Avalon. A dozen volunteers answered the call to arms and were ordered to muster in a field beyond Avalon's misty marshes, where they were tested against Godric's skill, sparring against him one at a time under Troll-Bane's watchful gaze.

Several men took umbrage at being forced to test their prowess against such a young man and approached their bouts with an arrogant air. This was soon beaten out of them as Godric showed no mercy and not pausing until his detractors lay groaning in the mud. Their fellows soon learned from these mistakes and gave Godric the respect he deserved. None could best the young warrior, although three ran him close, two wizards called Dunstan and Tobias and a young man called Ancel, the second son of a Muggle knight. These three alone passed Hugh's vigorous expectations, although a fourth man was also chosen, mainly because of the great warbow clasped in his hand rather than his melee skills. It was a huge weapon, larger than any bow that the warriors of Avalon had seen. Only Bayard had faced such bowmen in war, in his old mercenary heydey, and he testified that they were a fearsome weapon to encounter. Its owner was a dour and grizzled man from the Welsh mountains, whose grunting answers to Alain's questioning led many to think he was mute.

The man eventually grunted that his name was Gawain. He had led a solitary existence, relying on his bow to pay his keep, from hunting deer for wealthy lords to keeping wolves at bay for shepherds in return for food and a warm fire. He also claimed that his great bow could pierce a mail shirt from over a greater distance than many shorter bows, a feat that many were disbelieving of. Alain was prudent enough to not ask how Gawain knew this, rightly suspecting that fighting Normans in the Marches could be added to the Welshman's list of adventures. The Lord of Avalon soon challenged Gawain to prove his boast and offered his own mail, an armoured tunic fit for a king, to put the bowman to the test.

No sooner had Alain sheathed his wand after using magic to levitate the mail towards a distant tree that three arrows embedded themselves into the tunic's breast whilst it still moved through the air. The arrowheads effortlessly tore through the metal rings before burying their points into the tree, pinning the shirt in place. Jaws gaped and eyes widened at the sight, whilst Gawain looked bored and unsurprised. His name was soon added to the list of those who would be joining the famous retinue of the Lord of Avalon.

Only Salazar remained sceptical of Gawain's usefulness. Whilst Godric and Hamon often accompanied Gawain on regular hunting ventures into the woods and marshes of Alain's fiefdom so that they could see the archer demonstrate his prowess with the mighty bow, Salazar remained in Avalon, unimpressed by the praise the uncouth Welshman received. The wizard appeared affronted by Gawain's apparent disdain for magic, seeing it as an unnecessary commodity rather than a gift granted to a chosen few and arguments between Salazar and Gawain soon became commonplace in Avalon's halls.

'You do realise,' Salazar said haughtily one cold autumn evening after Gawain had pointed out that a warbow's accuracy far outstripped that of a wand over a large distance, 'that I could just transfigure your wand and render it useless with a single spell.'

'I don't know what that means,' Gawain grunted disinterestedly, concentrating on coating a collection of bowstrings with beeswax, 'doesn't matter. This is the only magic I need. Would make another one, then I'd kill you with that. You wouldn't even realise I was there.'

'Is that a threat?' Salazar exclaimed,

'Touch my bow,' Gawain shrugged, his gaze still locked on his task, 'and you'll die. What good is your little stick then?'

It wasn't the Welshman's uncharacteristically long speech which unnerved the onlookers, but the manic grin Gawain flashed at the young wizard. Salazar prided himself on how well his keen eyes could read the hearts of other men, but even this still failed him when he was unable to decipher whether the archer was jesting. Salazar finally surmised that years spent wandering the wilderness alone had addled Gawain's mind and left him half-mad. Despite this, Salazar refused to entertain the thought that a wand could be bested by a Muggle weapon. Even so, his taunts ceased soon after and his protests at Gawain's presence became markedly more muted. Salazar may on occasion lack sense, but he was no fool.

Aside from the unease between Salazar and Gawain, the four new recruits melded well with the existing members of the retinue and after they had all survived the initiations enforced by Bayard and Hamon, they were welcomed effortlessly into Alain's household. Hugh had forged a fearsome fighting force for the Lord of Avalon to wield and if war ever came, then Godric felt certain that each one of his comrades had the aptitude to fulfil the oaths they had taken to protect Avalon from any threat it faced.

As the weeks passed, Godric and Salazar continued to learn valuable lessons which were essential to a wizard's development. This included learning to apparate and whilst the two apprentices accepted the necessity of mastering such a skill, it proved to be a frustratingly long process that came with many inherent dangers. Alain dismissed these risks, convinced that his students had the aptitude to succeed without falling victim to the pitfalls of apparition. Despite many hours spent nursing sore bodies and retching from the nauseous sensation, after only a week of strenuous effort they finally mastered the magical ability. Salazar took to it with the grace of a hawk in flight, but Godric, understanding that being able to vanish at will would one day prove useful if he was wounded in a melee or pursued by an enemy who held superior numbers, still disliked the disorientating feeling. As a means of travel, nothing compared to the thrill of galloping on horseback and Godric knew that as a squire destined for knighthood, he would always prefer horsemanship over travelling magically, especially on steeds as fine as those that Gervais bred. Godric assured his battered pride that this had nothing to do with his humiliating habit of landing on his arse rather than his feet, or Salazar's ruthless goading when Godric lay groaning in the dirt.

Salazar also honed his skills at the mind arts. If his errands allowed it, Godric would often join his friend in Morwenna's tranquil gardens, where Salazar had a habit of meditating in order to cleanse his mind of distraction before Alain mercilessly attempted to infiltrate it. Godric welcomed these times, for it kept Salazar from dwelling on the misfortune which had recently devastated him and encouraged Salazar to pursue his skill in leglimency with the same intense drive that Godric brought to his martial training.

Finally, the day came when Alain proudly told him that he had taught Salazar all he knew of mind magic. The Lord of Avalon ruefully confessed that he was no master in leglimency and that it was his childhood companion, Hugh Bunel, who had displayed a talent for mind magic. It was this ability that saw him best Mabel of Bellême, a feat few wizards had ever accomplished during her abhorrent lifetime. If Salazar desired to develop his talents further, then he would have to do so alone or seek out another champion of mind magic to instruct him.

They all soon learned that Godric didn't possess the same aptitude for such magic as his friend. However, the younger wizard's magic proved to be so temperamental that when Alain attempted to test his nephew for any talent in leglimancy. Godric's magic flared with the ferocity of a feral beast to defend him against any intrusive or foreign presence in his mind. Alain compared the experience of being assaulted by Godric's mind to a Danish axe hammering against a flimsy shield.

As uncomfortable an experience as being thrown aside by a wave of magic was, Alain was relieved that Godric had a moderately effective defence against mind magic. There were much darker spells that could meddle with a wizard's mind and Godric would need every defence he could muster, no matter how ill-disciplined, to ward against an enemy. Unfortunately, these moments left Godric with agonising headaches which could linger for hours, although it did not stop him from volunteering to let Salazar test his own skills on Godric. Salazar had initially been hesitant, neither wishing to face Godric's irrepressible magic nor comfortable with invading his friend's most private thoughts.

However, Godric merely waved aside Salazar's concerns, for he trusted Salazar indefinitely and knew that the older wizard would have the honour not to pry into any of the few secrets Godric had kept from him. Besides, after their talk above Eira's Fall, there were very few things to be ashamed of which the other did not know.

It was during this time that Alain deemed them ready to attend their first audience with the King of England. The Lord of Avalon had received a request to meet the King at Winchester, the ancient seat of the old English kings of Wessex, where Rufus's court had gathered and Alain's retinue had set out along frost bitten roads on the swiftest horses Gervais could breed.

Godric's first impressions of the royal court had initially left him speechless. After all, unfortunate circumstances had starved him of any opportunity to witness the realities of life at court during the King's coronation. But as their time with the King wore on, he soon realised that being in the presence of royalty was a wearisome experience. Not even Godric possessed such boundless energy. Godric had never met anyone with such boundless energy. The King could never keep still and was constantly on his feet, striding about the hall, laughing heartily with his booming voice as he scratched the red streaked beard which gave him his name. The young wizard also marvelled at how such a stocky, barrel-chested man could radiate a presence which dominated the great hall. Yet, for all the King's apparent self-deprecating nature, he was an incredibly hard man to read. When those mismatched eyes stared at a man, it was impossible to guess whether it would be the generous warrior or the uncompromising magnate who faced them.

Fortunately for them, Rufus was in an amicable mood when they arrived. After spotting Alain, the King bounded across the hall and swept the Lord of Avalon into a great embrace, smiling broadly. Alain attempted to kneel at his monarch's feet, as propriety demanded, but the King waved the custom away, lifting the Lord of Avalon to his feet and guiding the wizard to a seat at his high table, all the while chastising Alain for his persistent adherence to tradition. Alain's squires followed cautiously behind, unnerved by the King's boisterous behaviour and the discomforting looks the surrounding courtiers were giving them.

Godric greatly disliked the King's court, which he soon discovered was inhabited by many silver-tongued courtiers whose insipid praise for the King was said to further their own ambitions and little more. A man who spoke truthfully would not thrive in the court of a king and Godric soon found himself swearing that he'd avoid such an eventuality if he could help it. The sycophantic nobles lingered at the edges of the hall, watching enviously on as the King beckoned Alain to sit at his high table and discuss the business of the day. It took over an hour for Rufus to stop detailing his campaigns against the Scots, embellishing the glory of border battles and lecturing them on the holy powers of some obscure and long-dead saint, whose miraculous intervention had destroyed a fleet of pirates who had been disrupting the King's supply lines along the northern coast.

Eventually, they moved onto the reason for the King's summons and their discussion turned to wizarding matters. Alain informed the King of the attempt on his life, which angered the monarch greatly and in his righteous rage he immediately pledged a hundred knights to Alain's service.

'You have my thanks, Lord King,' Alain calmed the blustering Rufus calmly, 'but it is not necessary. My household knights are amongst the best in Britain and when the great Wizengamot met, justice was done…' he paused and smiled at Godric proudly, 'those responsible have paid in both blood and silver…'

'Very good,' Rufus nodded. Scented rushes crunched beneath his feet as he paced the floor like a lion, stroking his reddish gold mane with a bejewelled finger. He paused only to look at Alain thoughtfully,

'Did you manage to counsel our fellow wizards on other matters like I requested?' he asked innocently, although his eyes were sharp,

'No, Lord King,' Alain sighed wearily. Godric, who was dozing in his seat, perked up suddenly, ignorant of any task Rufus had given Alain over the last few months. A single glance was enough to tell him that Salazar was as unaware of it as he. Rufus ambled to the great table and began to tap his fingers on the wood impatiently.

'I'm sad to hear it,' Rufus said slowly, his eyes narrowing, 'time is an ally we do not have. You promised me that you would speak to your peers…this Wizengamot. You are my sworn man, Alain and you have served me loyally as you did my father. But if you are unwilling to do this, then I may have to consider other claimants for the title of Grand-Sorcerer. These men may be more inclined to do my will?'

'That is your choice, Lord King,' Alain said evenly, calming the King with a raised hand, 'but allow me to offer a defence. This is a dangerous time for wizards. Too dangerous to push a case for the sovereignty of the King of England over wizards. Magical Britain is a deeply fractured place and the attempt on my life was a consequence of this unending infighting. More concern stems from the rise of Bellême …'

'That braggart,' the King suddenly shouted as his loathing for Bellême flared and he thumped the table with a clenched fist, 'that man hates me. He's always been a closer companion to Robert and has never treated me with the respect I deserved, even as children. Always playing tricks on me, making me look like a fool in front of my father and his barons. I should have hacked his head from his miserable shoulders when I had the chance…'

'Lord King, remember that we are not alone,' Alain rebuked him gently, glancing at the preening courtiers about them, some of which would most definitely be in Bellême's pay, 'idle threats may still inspire rebellion if someone with a loose tongue overhears. Bellême is a powerful man and his election to the Wizengamot presents a greater challenge than the one we faced at the start of your reign, Lord King. I fear that if you try to make wizards accept your sovereignty, then you may be aiding Bellême's ambitions, for you will force many discontented wizards to his banner.'

The King was pacing again, frowning harshly. It was clear that Rufus was very concerned by these uneasy developments, especially when they related to his erstwhile enemy and childhood tormenter Robert of Bellême.

'You advise caution? Rufus clarified,

'Yes, Lord King,' Alain nodded firmly, 'at least until the situation is settled and frayed tempers have been soothed.'

'You are a wise man, Alain,' the King finally said, waving off the Lord of Avalon's concerns. Even Godric could tell that his ambition had not been dismissed entirely, only tempered, 'so I will accept your advice. But mark my word, Lord of Avalon, once the dispute with the Scots has ended and their armies are scattered, I will look to Normandy. I have heard of the wealth of wizards and that your kind has gold aplenty. Such revenues would greatly aid fund the wars against my brother!'

'Indeed, Lord King,' Alain agreed with the grace of a diplomat, 'and as your sworn man, I'd gladly give you all the gold and resources I can muster. But wizard's gold isn't limitless. We're not goblins…'

'Goblins?' Rufus shuddered in revulsion at the thought of such unholy creatures, before his expression turned wistful, 'these goblins are wealthy creatures? Maybe I should meet with them…'

'That wouldn't be advisable,' Alain interjected harshly, seeking to dispel such a foolish notion before it could take root in the King's mind, 'the goblins are a frugal and warlike race. They also despise mankind, both wizards and Muggles alike. I promise that only ill can come of approaching them…'

'Then wizards will have to do,' Rufus exclaimed, 'For God's sake man, my coffers are not limitless. I'm under pressure to reimburse the Church, raising taxes could lead to revolt and my debts with the Jews are mounting...'

'Not all wizards will kneel to a Muggle king, Lord,' Alain broached delicately.

'You do,' Rufus scoffed, 'and so do many others, including that bastard Bellême. Do the wizards of this Otherworld think they are superior to those who cannot wield magic? I am a warrior king of knightly virtue and a godly man…'

'You are all these things, Lord King,' Alain acknowledged with a sad smile at the King's bluster, 'but in the eyes of some wizards, you are still a Muggle, despite your royal title. Many wizards would treat you with the same disdain that they would a villein and would not care for the enormity of the insult given. If you pressed your sovereignty now, then you would throw the magical world into upheaval. Such anarchy would undoubtedly spill over into your world, Lord King.'

'So what you are saying,' Rufus questioned, 'is that a war in this world of yours will affect my kingdom?'

'Precisely, Lord King,' Alain nodded, 'many wizards have Muggle kin, whether they openly recognise it or not. Look at Bellême. His father is not only a Muggle, but also one of the most powerful magnates in the land and those of his brothers who have no magical blood are still powerful men. Don't you recall the revolt at the beginning of your reign?'

'I can hardly forget it,' Rufus grumbled, his expression darkening as he remembered the attempt by many of his late father's loyal supporters to oust him from the throne in favour of Robert of Normandy.

'Part of the reason you defeated it was because Bellême lacked the support of wizards. Now, he is far more influential and can muster a far greater force. With Bellême's support, Robert could again try to take your throne. Your quest for power over wizards is a foolhardy ambition, Lord King. It would be best if you put it to the back of your mind,' Alain counselled the King bluntly, before his features softened, 'for now at least!'

Godric and Salazar exchanged a glance. Only the Lord of Avalon could contemplate speaking to a king in the manner of a tutor chastising a disruptive student. Surprisingly, Rufus remained unfazed by it, for he had long ago become accustomed to such rebukes from Alain.

'Maybe I should find a use for Bellême and keep him close at hand?' the King pondered aloud, 'can't you see how beneficial a war in Normandy would be? It'd allow the bastard to exhaust his frustrations on others? Despite Robert's best efforts, there are still unruly barons in his lands, cooped up their castles and plotting intrigue. If I can further sunder these fractures, then many of my enemies will be too busy tearing each other apart when I launch my attack…'

Alain closed his eyes briefly and sighed, knowing that his caution would be ignored. Familial disputes ran far deeper in the blood of the Conqueror than wisdom. Surprisingly, the King finally seemed to sense his Grand-Sorcerer's increasing disapproval and changed tack with the speed of a falcon in flight,

'Let's not talk about my brother,' Rufus eventually growled impatiently, continuing his pacing.

'Have you quarrelled again, Lord King?'

Rufus kicked out at a passing hound, confirming Alain's suspicions.

'In a way,' the King said dramatically, 'don't we always. Robert is intent on being a thorn in my side. Normandy is my ancestral homeland just as much as it is his. Robert is a mere duke, whose enemies in France, Anjou and Brittany raid his borders. When I calmly suggested that Robert accepted me as his overlord, so that I could help consolidate his power over his rivals, he would not have it…'

Godric doubted that the King had been as amicable as he claimed. He had witnessed Rufus passing judgment and knew that the King possessed a ruthless facet to his soul that irked many of his barons.

'Not only did he dismiss my concerns,' Rufus exclaimed in exasperation, 'but you should have heard the insults he threw at me, Alain. Saying I was the spawn of the devil, a disgrace to our father...a lover of perverse appetites. LIES!'

The King slammed a hand against the high table as he roared this, startling the courtiers who had been dozing, unconcerned with matters of state or talk of magic. Alain did not speak, letting the King vent his frustrations.

'I am a king,' Rufus growled, breathing heavily from his sudden exertion, 'my father chose me to succeed him. He did not choose Robert. I swear, my Lord of Avalon that I will cross the sea and bring sword and fire to Normandy. I will see Robert on his knees…'

'One day, Lord King,' said Alain, 'but not yet. The war in the north has depleted your revenues and the Church is displeased with you. I advise caution and patience. Let your kingdom have peace, so you can rest for a time. All men, from kings to churls, are required to rest their bodies or they may fall prey to sickness and exhaustion. You have been campaigning for the better part of a year. If you do not rest, then I fear what illness may strike you down.'

'Are you a healer now, Alain?' Rufus laughed, 'I may be in my prime, but I'm as healthy as any young buck. With the way you are talking, I'd say you did not want to ride to war. You're not going soft on me are you? Surely not the man who put my father's enemies to the sword and helped secure my throne?'

'Never, Lord King,' Alain said, grimacing at the King's use of his long-held reputation as a warrior, 'I merely advise caution. You forgot that there are many men who would celebrate if they saw you displaced.'

'You fret like an old midwife over a babe born too soon into this world,' Rufus chuckled teasingly, amused by Alain's restraint. This cut to close to the bone for Salazar, who visibly flinched as it stirred memories of the deaths which had recently blighted his life. Ignorant of the tragedy which had befallen Avalon, the King continued unhindered and his amused smile never wavered, 'and you cannot dissuade me. Robert will be put in his place, I have sworn it!'

'I accept that this is what you wish, Lord,' Alain said, 'but what of Henry?'

'What of him?' Rufus snorted, 'are you suggesting that I should fear Henry?'

'Is it so hard to believe, Lord King?' Alain shrugged, 'he's been very active recently...'

'It's true that he's made a nuisance of himself; flexing his muscles. I may not trust him, but I do not fear him either.'

'Lord King, Henry is still your father's son,' Alain warned his liege lord, 'and has the ambition and talent to be a potential threat to you. Make sure you do not underestimate him.'

'Underestimate him?' Rufus laughed heartily, his face flushed in amusement, 'what is there to fear from Henry? So what if he has exhibited some aptitude for war. It runs in the family and he is my brother. Even Robert isn't an oaf when it comes to battle. It is obvious that no word of the debacle at Mont St Michael has reached your ears, Alain. Henry was dissatisfied with his lot, so chose to rebel against Robert. It was a disaster for the young fool and it only proved that whilst he is capable of waging war, he is not born to it like Robert or I. Since he was besieged, he has wisely kept his head down. My spies' report that Henry has fled with the few friends he has to France, so that he can suckle at the tits of a weak king.'

'You sound remarkably unconcerned, Lord King, I hope you do not come to regret it underestimating Henry.'

'I won't,' Rufus stated confidently, patting the wizard reassuringly on the shoulder, 'but I'm more concerned with Robert. He holds the power in Normandy. Why squash one bee when you can destroy the hive. My task is to destabilise Robert's hold on Normandy; to persuade his loyal barons that it would be more prudent to swear fealty to me...'

'Well, Lord King,' Alain said slowly, 'it appears that for now, you cannot be diverted. But I beseech you to keep a wary eye on Henry. He not only has ambition but the determination to achieve his goals. Robert lacks this. Please have a care with him, Lord King.'

'You fret too much, old friend,' Rufus smiled reassuringly and Godric knew that all Alain's wise warnings were already lost on the King, 'besides, who can hurt me when I have the support of Alain of Avalon?'

Alain didn't answer. He had long ago mastered how to mask his frustrations and all this training was called upon when Rufus clapped him on the shoulder again, before turning to Alain's squires for the first time.

'Have we met before?' The King inquired, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as they scrutinised Godric, 'you seem familiar?'

'I am the son of Edmund of Black-Hollow, Lord King,' Godric answered, unnerved by the suddenness of the King's attention, 'one of your loyal English vassals.'

'That's it,' the King suddenly cried out, 'I have you now. I remember you…your that boy who put Bellême on his arse.' The King's booming voice echoed across the great hall, swiftly followed by his laughter. His courtiers quickly joined in, though Godric doubted whether more than half of them had actually heard what the King had said. As the merriment increased, Godric suspected that Bellême would be furious when he learned that the King had mocked his misfortune so openly. Choosing to laugh at Bellême was so foolish that it reminded Godric of Rowena's father.

When the laughter finally died, the King glanced at Salazar, examining the young wizard's darkly handsome features so closely that Salazar shifted uncomfortably. The King smiled as Salazar looked away, before turning to Alain and informing the Lord of Avalon that he could take them both off his hands if he wished it.

'I could find a place at Court for them,' the King commented affably, causing many courtiers to scowl in envy, whilst others looked displeased with the King's blatantly uncandid behaviour.

'One day certainly, Lord King,' Alain replied smoothly, 'and you are generous to offer it now. But I must regretfully decline. Godric and Salazar still have much to learn and are yet to reach knighthood or to fully master their magic. It would be unwise to release them from my service at this time.'

'I'll hold you to it,' Rufus murmured, unable to mask his disappointment. The gaze he levelled at Godric and Salazar was almost predatory. Godric was unsure of how to respond to the King's behaviour, so settled on following Salazar's graceful lead and bowing low. Months ago, Salazar would have leapt at the opportunity to converse with a king. However, his grief still plagued him and Rufus's earlier words had shaken him, no matter how hard he tried to mask it. He remained silent instead. Fortunately, Rufus did not press the issue further and soon lost interest in them, lingering long enough to abruptly dismiss the Lord of Avalon from his presence before he strode away to engage his favourites in conversation, leaving Alain and his squires to their own affairs.

Alain concluded the rest of his dealings quickly and soon left Winchester, hurriedly returning to Avalon before the early onset of winter snow arrived. A white blanket of frost was already spread thinly across the landscape and the breath of every rider issued forth like mist. Once on the road and away from the King's spies, Alain was finally free to voice his frustrations with Rufus.

'It's a good thing that Rufus is bred for war,' Alain growled irritably, 'for his greed and ambition will certainly lead to that outcome…' Godric and Salazar remained silent. They could tell that Alain was in no mood to discuss Rufus's misplaced desires.

No one anticipated the strange meeting to come. It occurred when the riders led their tired mounts across the borders of Avalon's mist-strewn and wild marshland. It was Godric who heard it first, a foreign sound which rose above the familiar calls of the water birds and the rustling of waterfowl amongst the reeds. It was a sorrowful cry that sent a shiver up his spine. The young wizard brought his horse to a sudden stop and his companions halted, looking back inquiringly. Godric ignored them, his keen eyes scanning the willows and bogs of the wilderness which surrounded them.

It didn't take Godric to locate the source of the strangely mournful song. A small bird sat perched on the spindly arms of an ancient willow, its back bent with age and its branches hanging bare like skeletal claws. The creature suited the sinister tree well. It looked wretched and as sorrowful as the song it cried, almost carrion-like if it was not for the outlandishly sea-green feathers which covered its body, matted with dirt, thorns and the wings of the fairies it preyed upon. It's hooked beak and doleful eyes were scanning the swamps below, head bowed and resembling a mourner beside a grave.

As his companions steered their mounts towards him, Godric pointed at the strange creature.

'What is that bird?'

Alain followed his gaze before his eyes widened in surprise.

'Merlin,' the Lord of Avalon actually gasped, 'an Augurey!'

'A what?' Salazar frowned,

'An Augurey,' Alain finally explained, watching the mournful bird keenly, 'a species of phoenix. They are a rare sight, for their colouring is less glaring than its more striking, red-feathered brethren. They were once common in these islands until wizards hunted them to near extinction. Those that remain very rarely come to Avalon.'

'Why?' Godric asked curiously as Alain's brow furrowed.

'They feared them,' Alain answered,

'Fear?' Salazar said disbelievingly, also watching the Auguary, which finally seemed to realise that it was being watched and had turned to face them balefully. The low hum of its song remained unhindered, 'it seems harmless…'

'It is,' Alain sighed sadly, 'it was once held in high esteem in the days of the druids, who believed Auguary's were messengers from their gods. Yet, the English and Scandinavia raiders held no such belief and hunted them freely with a zealousness born of fear. Sadly, many still hold to the belief that their songs are ill omens. It is rumoured that if you see an Auguary, or hear its mournful song, then it's foretelling your death.'

He hid it well, but his squires could sense that even Alain was unnerved by the Auguary's appearance and his hand slowly drifted to his wand, seeking comfort from its presence. The Auguary continued to watch them, its otherworldly gaze seemingly piercing their very souls. The horsemen stared back until the faint chill of a winter shower began to fall from the greying sky. With a chilling wail, the magical creature took flight, spreading its wings as it dipped towards the waters around it before rising and soaring away on the wind.

Once the magical bird had fled beyond their sight and the icy rain thickened, the small band hurried back to Avalon, thoughts of death and doom on their minds. Yet, as they navigated the mists of Avalon and saw the white towers of Alain's keep loom into view, the sight dispelled their fears over the Auguary and the mystical creature and its omens of doom were soon forgotten.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four: Knight of Avalon

**Knight of Avalon**

Winter came to Avalon and it brought with it a much needed opportunity for Alain's household to shake off the gloom of recent months and rejoice in the Christmas festivities. The white castle soon became a hive of activity as its inhabitants prepared for the festivities that they were intent on celebrating with ardent abandon.

Amidst running errands to help with the preparations and completing their daily obligations, the three squires began to suspect that something was afoot. Secret smiles and hushed whispers began to haunt them, followed by hurried silences when the young men happened to wander within hearing range as if an undisclosed secret was being kept from them. Salazar had been especially indignant, his deeply engrained belief in propriety taking it for an insult. On one occasion, he let his growing frustrations manifest as he sharply reprimanded two tittering kitchen girls who had tried his patience.

His rebuke only increased their mirth and his bruised pride responded by threatening them with punishment. He instantly regretted it, for the doughty cook Magge happened by at that exact moment, overheard the threat and chased him from her kitchens by clouting him about the head repeatedly with a leg of mutton, loudly proclaiming that her maids were not slaves and that if he ever dared threaten them again, then she wouldn't hesitate to insert a heated spit into a part of Salazar's anatomy unaccustomed to having blazing implements thrust into it. No one doubted the seriousness behind her promise and from that day forth, Salazar had a habit of hastily giving any burden which concerned visiting Magge's kitchens to Hamon, who with his infamous appetite had voiced no complaints about fulfilling this duty.

The cause for the household's strange behaviour remained hidden, although the three friends spent what few free hours they had pondering the mystery. However, no secret can remain concealed forever and it was commonplace for rumours to stalk Avalon's halls and all of Alain's squires were attentive to anything that appeared outwardly out-of-place. Whilst helping Lambert with counting the stores stowed away in Avalon's deep cellars, Salazar had eavesdropped on Gervais informing his brother that Alain had sent a messenger hawk requesting for a wizard of importance to attend him in Avalon. Furthermore, Hamon had overheard a servant complaining bitterly about how she was frequently bloodying her fingers whilst working on gifts Morwenna intended to bestow on a lucky recipient. What these gifts were, the young men had no idea, but whilst honing his dual-wielding skills on Avalon's tiltyard, Godric had spied Hugh riding out of Avalon alone. He soon discovered that Troll-Bane was meeting with a renowned metalsmith, but when Godric inquired further he met only a tight-lipped silence from a smirking Tancred and Ancel. Hugh returned a few hours later, leading a palfrey horse heavily laden with wrapped bundles which were hidden securely away, despite Hamon's best efforts to find them.

As the days until Christmas passed by, their mounting suspicions turned into wistful predictions. None of them dared voice the tantalising hope which began to stir their hearts; a hope that the secretive behaviour was a sign of impending knighthood. It had been a distant dream for so long, but both Salazar and Hamon had now reached an age when a squire could rightfully expect to be knighted. Godric's own hopes were markedly more restrained than those of his friends. It was a fool's hope to believe that he would be knighted alongside them. He was still too young and it was rare for any man to be knighted at his age.

Godric hid his disappointment well, but eventually the day came when all was revealed. It arrived in the shape of Thibault Ollivander, who had once again braved the onset of winter to come to Avalon. Whilst they were told that the wand-maker was only there to service Alain's armoury in a time of unrest, the squires ascertained that Ollivander's presence could only mean one thing; that the time had finally come for at least one of Alain's squires to end their apprenticeship and receive the wand of a fully-fledged wizard. Hamon also expected to be knighted, for Bayard had drunkenly let slip the news whilst he shared ale with Hamon in the guardroom and only Isolde's hasty intervention stopped Hamon from prying further.

Despite his best efforts, Godric became despondent, preferring to seek solitude in Avalon's glades where he could struggle with his mounting jealousies alone. He made sure he took an axe with him and unleashed his frustrations upon a defenceless tree, hewing large splinters from the trunk which would later be used as firewood for Avalon's braziers.

'Did that tree insult you?' a voice shouted from one of the paths which led to Avalon's great keep behind him. Godric lowered the axe as he turned to find Ollivander trudging towards him, his boots crunching on the thin layer of snow and frost.

'Lord,' Godric exclaimed in surprise, before remembering his manners and bowing in respect. Ollivander ignored the pleasantry, grimacing at the remnants of the brutalised tree.

'It must have been quite an insult to warrant this butchery,' he noted, his eyes twinkling as he clapped the younger man on the shoulder, 'It's good to see you again.'

'It's good to see you, Lord,' Godric mumbled in return, not in the mood for the wandmaker's eccentricities. If Ollivander noticed Godric's hesitance, he didn't comment on it.

'I feel sorry for any poor bastard who faces you in battle,' Ollivander said, ignoring Godric's mulish behaviour to bend down and inspect the young wizard's handiwork, 'no, this is no use to me. Can't make a decent wand out of a tree which has suffered like this.'

'I'm sorry, Lord,'

'Not to worry,' the wand-maker said casually, flicking away a splinter before turning his scrutinising gaze on Godric, 'though, if gossip is to be believed, then people are more likely to lose their heads...'

Godric grimaced, not surprised by the revelation that Ollivander had heard of his duel with Killer-Bjorn.

'You weren't there, Lord?'

'Unfortunately, no,' the wand-maker grumbled, 'I didn't linger long enough. The Wizengamot is a notoriously dull affair, full of cankerous old men snapping at each other for hours. I had far more pressing tasks to do, like seeing a man about acquiring a very magical property for the latest batch of wands I've been working on. I'm sorry I missed it. Your duel is the talk of Britain. I hope you will forgive me, but I may have embellished the tale, especially my part in it when I retold it to a travelling Venetian wand-maker. After all, I did provide you with the wand that you used to win it!'

'What did you need me for, Lord,' Godric interrupted him, for the winter chill was steadily beginning to creep past the heat generated by his exertions and his patience with the man was waning swiftly.

'Truthfully,' Ollivander said, flashing Godric a mischievous smile, 'nothing at all. Nolwenn the Fae-Whisperer has also come to Avalon and I'm determined to avoid her. She's never forgiven me for taking a holly sapling from one of her private gardens and the mad bat believes I defiled a sacred grove of that Great Mother she prays too. Having a brief triste with one of her priestesses didn't help, but I've never paid much heed to sacred customs unless a wand is involved. I deemed it best to delay our meeting for as long as possible, as I still have the scars from last time. Heed the advice of the old, young man and never pursue a priestess or anyone whose love for you is a rival of their love for a deity. How can any mortal compete with a god?'

'Is that all, Lord?' Godric asked, barely able to contain his peevishness at being disturbed from his brooding mood for such an absurd reason.

'Nope,' the wand-maker said brightly, clapping his hands together, 'I'm here to check your wand. I've just brewed the potion your friend Slytherin will drink to complete the ritual. Having already gone through it, I'll need to check whether your wand is still working perfectly. If it's as good as the day I gave it to you, then there will be no need to go through the Ritual again.'

'There's no need,' Godric grunted sourly, staring at the wand-maker in bemusement, 'I won't be knighted. I'm still too young…'

'Don't be a fool,' Ollivander laughed, 'Alain's as soft as melted butter, especially when it comes to his squires and if poor Lambert is to be believed, then you're all as thick as thieves. He even cares for that obnoxious Muggle boy and Merlin knows what he sees in him. Do you really think that Alain would knight your friends and keep you as a squire? You? Who has arguably faced trials greater than either of them? Of course, you'll be knighted boy, only a dullard would deny it you.'

Godric gaped at the older man, feeling his hope rekindle. He didn't say a word as Ollivander summoned his wand and inspected it with secret and sacred spells known only to the wand-makers guild.

'Perfect,' he finally announced, holding Godric's wand proudly, 'such a wand must have been fashioned by a masterful craftsman…'

'The best, Lord,' Godric breathed as he took the offered wand.

'You flatter me,' Ollivander smiled, 'now; you don't by any chance know where that insufferable Moor has got to? He's been hiding from me since I arrived and I feel the urge to bait him a little…'

That night, Alain summoned all three of his squires to his chamber and confirmed that they would indeed be knighted during the Christmas festivities,

'Avalon needs this,' the Lord of Avalon said, smiling at each of the young men he had mentored since childhood, 'and with storm clouds growing beyond this island, I believe that it is time for you all to join the ranks of the great fellowship of warriors who have sworn an oath as knights of Avalon.' His erstwhile charges beamed with pride at being gifted such an honour, an accolade which Alain assured them they had all earned during their service to him.

It was a tradition for a squire to be knighted by the lord they had served. The ceremony in which Alain's three squires were to be granted knighthood would be a more lavish affair than most, full of pageantry and feasting when most were simple rites of passage or were dispensed on the battlefield after a great feat of arms. However, the three young men were not expected to be mere household knights. They were raised on Avalon and it was to the island that they would owe their loyalty. Within the Lord of Avalon's domain, they were as connected to the otherworld as they were to the rest of magical Britain or the Muggle realms beyond its borders. It had always been so and Alain declared that this tradition would be maintained, for on the night before their knighting, his squires must first be blessed by bathing in Avalon's sacred pools.

The ritual could only take place at night when the moon was full and basked Avalon in a pale, ethereal light. As the sun set over the distant horizon, the three companions slipped away from the keep and ventured into the glades which surrounded it. They strode along a small furrowed path between the clawing branches, using torches to guide their way towards the place Morwenna had told them to find. They carried no weapons, for custom demanded that no mortal weapon could be carried into the Otherworld, that strange realm where it was believed the souls of the dead fled to when their lives had ended. No breeze rustled the trees about them or shifted the clouding mist, and the undergrowth by their feet lay undisturbed by the scurrying of nocturnal animals. They walked on, aware that one false step could send them hurtling to their deaths down one of the many hidden pits that led to the bowels of the caves below. The howling and shrieking calls of the creatures which inhabited the marshes that surrounded Avalon did nothing to relieve their growing dread. As if in a daze, they scaled rocks and streams until at last they came to a halt, their eyes widening at the sight before them.

It was the same mystical pool in which Godric had once witnessed Morwenna disappearing into clinging vines to bathe years before. The sacred pool was veiled with overgrown ivy and foliage untouched by the onset of winter so that it retained the deep emerald colouring of winter. Tiny magical creatures hummed as they hovered about the earthly verdure dome, shining brightly. Surveying the scene, they didn't notice how the winter's chill had miraculously disappeared, fading as a gentle warm breeze which seemed to emerge from the pool itself drove the cold away. The tranquil patter of falling water seemed to enflame their blood, enticing them to enter. They still hesitated, before finally summoning the courage to approach the veil. Approaching it cautiously, they faced it as if it the gates to the Otherworld, the spirit realm of folklore and legend.

A howl suddenly punctured the air, jolting them from their stupors. Hands searched in vain for wands or daggers but found nothing in which to defend themselves against the foul beast which had uttered the abnormal call. The young men hesitated, momentarily unnerved before Godric had reacted first. Exchanging a look with his companions, he shared his silent assurance that neither Alain nor Morwenna would risk their lives on an ancient ritual. Then he reached out with a steady hand and tried to draw the curtain aside.

Just as his fingers brushed against the ivory, the veil burst open. Startled, Godric stumbled backwards, his eyes widening as a creature from myth strode from the ghostly realm. It had the limbs and torso of a woman, naked with skin shining with spilt blood and tattooed with blue woad. But it was no human head which sat upon the creature's shoulders, but that of an eyeless stag. Clumps of sodden moss hung from the mighty antlers which adorned its crown and a cloak of dark carrion feathers was draped about its shoulders. The bones of small birds and wild fowl were tied to its beastly apparel, rattling unnervingly with every shift of its wretched body.

Recovering from their astonishment, the three friends remained wide-eyed, uncertain what trial they had to complete. Were they supposed to fight this creature of the otherworld to prove their worth, as they stood without any weapon to aid them other than the strength of their bodies? After all, they had encountered dark creatures in Avalon before, left to dwell in the island's shadows and waiting for an unfortunate victim to stumble past. Salazar and Hamon glanced at Godric, waiting for his cue to attack, for in a fight it was Godric that led and his friends were content to follow the younger wizards lead whenever violence threatened.

Yet, before Godric could even shift into a fighting stance, the beastly figure held up a hand adorned with long, wraith-like nails which resembled blood-stained claws.

'Halt,' the creature commanded vehemently. It spoke with the voice of a woman, yet one which was distorted beyond all mortal recognition, as if the creature spoke with divine authority. The three friend's instantly obeyed, as if the strength of the blood-drenched beast's voice alone was enough to render their muscles powerless.

'What is this?' Godric heard Hamon whisper to Salazar. The Muggle was ignorant of the customs and traditions of magical Britain, so he naively believed that his friend's had a better understanding of this outdated ritual than he did.

'Silence!' The creature's wrathful order instantly robbed Salazar of any reply the wizard had been about to muster. The eyeless mask scrutinised each of them in turn, before waving a clawed hand, slick with gore, as if gesturing someone forward from the ethereal gloom behind it, 'before you enter the kingdom of the Fae, you must first drink the blood of the fallen…'

As the beast spoke, the veil was drawn back to reveal six young women, although in appearance they barely resembled any women that the three squires had ever met before. Their faces were hidden behind masks of bark and rushes and their long hair fell loose and wild about their shoulders. The beast's minions had pale skin, where oozing amber sap had trickled intricately down their bodies, staining their simple dresses and making their skin glow in the flickering light. The women filed past the creature and Godric noticed that the first three bore crudely fashioned wooden goblets clasped in their small hands. The women came to a stop before the young men and held out their offerings for each squire to take. Godric grimaced and his stomach blanched in revulsion as he took the goblet the offered goblet and beheld the thick, dark brew that rested within it. It was blood, but from what creature it had been drained remained a mystery to Godric. If the beast was to be believed, then it was the blood of those fallen in bygone battles. Whether this was true or not, it was obvious that the horrifying figure had been responsible for the killing. But for honour and a magical blessing to be bestowed upon them, they were required to drink the unholy concoction. Godric raised it to his lips, hesitated at the brink as his willpower wavered, before persevering and consuming the goblet's contents, resisting the urge to wretch until the cup was empty and his throat burned with the bitter taste. A glance told him that both Salazar and Hamon had followed his lead, drinking the vile brew until nothing but the blood staining their lips remained.

The masked women made no move to retake the empty vessels and the three squires merely let them slip from their fingers, barely registering the dull thud of the goblets landing in the undergrowth. Their vision had suddenly become blurred and their minds overcome with a hazy mist that clouded their thoughts and could not be shifted.

Without warning, Godric felt the tender caress of delicate fingers upon his body. Blinking to clear his vision, he discovered that two of the masked figures had stepped silently forward and were in the process of unclothing him. Godric tried to muster a protest as his raven brooch was unbuckled and his cloak removed from his shoulders. Yet it died on his lips as the rest of his attire closely followed until he stood naked before them. He made no attempt to hide his nakedness. Many emotions rampaged through his body, but neither lust nor shame stirred there. Instead, he felt both lightheaded and content as the women who had undressed him stepped back and withdrew into the shadows behind the veil. Godric didn't have to look to his friends to know that they too had been undressed.

Standing naked before a beast, which to their drug-addled minds seemed to hail from the Otherworld, was a discomforting experience. However, the stillness which abruptly descended upon them did not last. Singing began to rise from the murky gloom behind the nightmarish figure, a gentle soothing melody that calmed their frayed nerves. As if it was driven by the music, the creature stepped forwards and in turn, pressed its hand against their chests and smeared their chests with blood with such wild abandon that it also splattered their faces and limbs. Whatever herbs and drugs had been added to the blood they had drunk must have been potent, for not even the fastidious Salazar felt repulsed by the gore his skin was coated with. After decorating their chests, the beast reached out with a clawed nail to trace a swirling symbol into the blood. Godric didn't look down, for he had eyes only for the mystical figure that, once it had completed its task, stepped back and bowed to them.

'You are now one with the Ancients,' the creature growled, 'and have been found worthy of entering their domain. Come!' It then turned stridently and disappeared into the mist.

The squires followed, drawing back the hanging ivy and stepping into the mystical realm. The mist cleared about them, revealing the nine forlorn stone maidens who bathed for eternity within the pool and who, legend said had once guarded the Cauldron of Rebirth. Winters did not touch them, for the enclosed pool was infused with unseasonal warmth. The only light came from the glow of the moon. Moths fluttered in the spectral rays, only to be chased by the native fairies who danced amongst the foliage above them. Surprisingly, on passing beyond the veil, the horned beast vanished, taking with it the masked women who had undressed them. This was a world removed from any Godric had seen. He truly felt like he had wandered into the realm of the Fae.

Godric blinked, thinking that maybe he had entirely imagined the creature and its ungodly entourage. Without being ordered, the three young men seemed aware of what was expected of them and strode wordlessly to the rugged stone steps that sank into the water and lowered themselves into the pool. They swam and bathed in silence, content to let the refreshing magically enthused water physically and spiritually cleanse their bodies. This was a memory of Britain as it had once been, before the magic of the druids had even reached its shores. A mist-shrouded place lost in its own world of magic and mystery, and as far removed from the petty squabbles of wizards or the ambition of kings as any that could be found in during the dark times.

' _Bloody hell_ …' Godric's eyes sprang open at Hamon's stunned exclamation, only to be rendered speechless. Salazar's gasp joined their own, for perched at the pool's edge and wrapped in a thick cloak stood Morwenna. She watched them noiselessly, her hair hanging loose and free of the braid she usually shackled it in. None of them could tell how long she had stood there watching them warmly.

She began to sing a mournful tune not unlike the one he had heard the Auguary sing. From somewhere in the cloaking mist, a harp joined its music to Morwenna's voice as she reached up and unbuckled the mantle from her shoulders. The cloak fell in a heap at her feet, revealing a simple woollen shift. All three squires spluttered, for facing them was a woman untouched by mortal age. Watching her with wide-eyes, a creature born from the earth and waters of Avalon, Godric could finally understand how his uncle had fallen in love with this otherworldly being. The three squires blushed, suddenly aware of their nakedness as the Lady of Avalon slipped elegantly into the pool's depths and seemingly melted into the sacred waters.

Morwenna glided across the pool until she joined them at its centre. She faced each in turn, no gentle smile softening her features. Instead, her violet gaze was distant and she began to speak in an ancient language, one which had long been lost to wizards and that none could understand. It was as if Morwenna had been possessed by some greater being, so uncharacteristic was her behaviour. She chanted the blessing slowly, evoking the spirits of the Ancient Ones to grant the young men power in their exploits and protect their bodies from mortal threats.

She slowly reached out and traced a pattern over their faces and torso, before resting the palm of her delicate hand over their hearts. As Morwenna whispered an incantation, Godric felt a sudden rush of power stir from his breast to spread like fire through his veins that he almost laughed in exhilaration. It soon turned to shock as the Lady of Avalon leant forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. It was the briefest of touches, but in that time Godric thought he tasted the bitter tang of ale on Morwenna's breath. Later, an amused Alain would confess to Godric that it had taken three jugs of Ella's strongest ale for Morwenna to summon the courage to perform this blessed ritual with three naked young men she had come to see as her own children. Yet, Avalon demanded that all the young warriors who hailed from the Sacred Isle and who wished to join the ranks of the mighty must first be blessed by this ancient coming of age ritual and so Morwenna had no choice but to bend to Avalon's will.

She repeated the blessing with his companions. Then, the chaste tradition complete, a smile finally reached her lips as she pulled away. Gone was the matron the young men had come to see her as, replaced by a being who shone with youthful beauty, unburdened by the rigours of age. Taking a deep breath, Morwenna plunged into the pool's depths, leaving the water undisturbed behind her. The Lady of Avalon dived deep beneath where the squires floated at pool's surface until she reached the pebble-strewn bed. A shining bronze knife awaited her, shimmering with a golden hue. She clasped the knife and surged upwards with the grace of a creature born in these very waters. As she gracefully resurfaced, the squires stilled as they noticed that she was armed. Godric had always assumed that any weapon would look out of place in his gentle aunt's hands, but this was quickly displaced as he watched on in amazement. Small drops of water glistened as they trickled down the bronze blade before returning to the water from whence it came. No mark blemished the dagger and it showed no sign of age, even though it must have lain on the pool's bed for over a thousand years.

Morwenna began to swim around them, returning to the song she had been singing when she had first appeared from the mists which shrouded the pool's banks. The three men reddened as her body, the shift clinging to her so that she appeared nude, brushed past and stroked their skin. Magic crackled about them, as if enticed to life by the song and Godric was adamant that he'd never again bear witness to such an otherworldly ritual, or one as imbued with an ancient magic long thought lost to wizards. One day Godric would come to suspect that the blood he had drunk had been laced with herbal drugs, which gave the ritual its ethereal quality and allowed his mind to wander. But at this moment, it was of no consequence, for Godric's heart swelled with pride that these three alone had been chosen to be blessed with such ancient spiritualism.

He felt Morwenna take his hand and quickly sliced the blade across his palm, releasing a small rush of blood. Strangely, Godric didn't cry out, for no pain came assaulted him. Morwenna's smile widened before she returned his hand to the water.

'You're are one with Avalon,' she told him in a hushed whisper as Godric felt a tingling sensation seize his hand so vehemently that it caused a small ripple in the water, 'you have been blessed by the Sacred Isle and your heart will forever feel sense its pull, whether as a place to take rest or to defend it when Avalon calls for aid.'

She lifted his hand from the water and Godric saw that there was no sign of the wound other than a thin pale scar that throbbed with every beat of his heart. Avalon had marked him as its servant and now he was obligated to answer its call for as long as its power remained unbroken. Seeing as the Isle of Apples had stood as a beacon of magical power for many millennia, Godric expected the oath to last an entire lifetime.

Once both Salazar and Hamon had also been blessed, Morwenna sighed wearily before swimming towards the bank and ascending the stone staircase with the grace of a maiden. The squires averted their eyes respectably as Morwenna stepped onto the bank so that they avoided seeing her near nakedness. The Lady of Avalon looked both young and vibrant, her skin now untouched by the marks of age as if the sacred pool had acted as a balm against the blemishes of time. Bending low to pick up her fallen cloak, she wrapped it about her shoulders and flashed them a small smile. Then she was gone, vanishing into the mists.

They were not alone for long, for Morwenna's absence was quickly replaced by the six masked women. The silent figures glided to the pool's banks and beckoned for the three men to come to them. Loathed as they were to leave the sanctuary of Avalon's sacred waters, the squires obeyed the command without complaint. The masked women helped dry their bodies before indicating that they should lay prostrate upon the grass. Soothing whispers and entrancing singing filled their ears as the masked women bid them to drink another bitter tonic, which cast the three men into a deep, enchanted sleep. It was not dissimilar to the dream state Godric had embarked upon when he completed the ritual to choose a wand.

Once again he was filled with the exhilarating feeling of soaring free above the land, having transformed into a mystical creature with a beak, claws and great wings. Yet, unlike his first drug-induced sleep, this time other images assaulted his mind. He saw two raging dragons entwined in battle, too engrossed in their struggle to notice how a dark cloud closed in around them. He saw again the prancing creature who had confronted them at the beginning of this very ritual, bleeding from a dozen wounds and hunted through a thick forest by mounted knights bearing the Christian cross on their shields. He witnessed the clash of armies and a great city drenched in blood and flame, before the vision reformed into a great castle rising above a lake as the deafening roar of a rampant lion set his blood ablaze and jolted him from his sleep.

When Godric woke, he discovered that the mist had seeped away in the night, replacing the unnatural warmth with the chill of a winter's morning. There was no sign of the bloodied creature or its masked followers. The three squires were completely alone and once his companions had regained consciousness, they did not linger, too unnerved by their experience. When the stupor of sleep finally wore off, Godric had little memory of what he had dreamt. Morwenna, now dressed appropriately as befitted her status and displaying no outward indication that the ritual she had participated in the night before had ever taken place, sought him out and asked about contents of his dreams. He tried his best to describe what visions he could remember and Morwenna was not angered by his forgetfulness. Indeed, she reacted sympathetically, knowing all too well disturbing nature of such dreams.

'Do not be troubled by what you saw,' she reassured him gently, 'dreams like these have deeper meanings that it is a forlorn hope for even the most skilled seers to understand them. Now cast it from your mind Godric, you have more important duties to consider today than wallowing in these uncertainties. Give me your wand, you will not need it until tonight.' Surprised, he nevertheless obeyed by handing over the magical object. Morwenna took it carefully as if she handled a priceless treasure and then left him to his thoughts. She had many preparations to oversee before the knighting ceremony could begin.

There was a stark contrast between the knighting ceremony presided over by the Lord of Avalon in his keep's great hall and the mysterious, otherworldly nature of the ritual they had participated in the previous night. The whole household was crammed into the hall, seated at three long tables which were laden with a bountiful feast provided by Magge's ceaseless efforts in the kitchens. Great tapestries hung down from the walls, depicting tales of hunts, romances and feats of arms.

Many esteemed guests had also come to bask in Avalon's hospitality. Thibault Ollivander was a notable attendee, for the eccentric wand-maker was garbed in the most flamboyant and garish garments he could find. A mischievous grin was never far away, whilst he committed most of his energy to his favourite pastime by provoking Yusuf into an argument. Nolwen the Fae-Whisperer sat beside him. She had changed little in the months since Godric had seen the prophetess on Ynys Mon, who appeared as distant and fae-like as ever. However, she did bestow a knowing smile upon Godric when she caught the young wizard frowning at her. The twinkling look led Godric to suspect that it was he who had presided over the previous night's ritual, although it was still hard to imagine that such a seemingly fragile witch like Nolwenn could appear as a towering, blood-soaked creature adorned with an antlered crown and who spoke with the voice of the Ancient Ones. She was garbed in a modest robe, free of any symbol of wealth. Six young women attended her, all dressed in similar simple garments and who Godric assumed were priestesses to the Great Mother.

Alain had not cared for such an outdated ritual, but his wife had insisted that his three squires be given every advantage against the dangers that threatened them in life, and there was little that Alain would deny Morwenna. To placate her, he had given his permission for the ritual to go ahead to placate her, but it was the knighting ceremony which in Alain's eyes symbolised their passage into manhood. In Avalon's great hall, the squires he had guided from boyhood and fashioned into men would be proclaimed knights. Unless they swore loyalty to him, his role as their master would come to an end and they would be expected to seek their own fortunes. They had served him well and now Alain was determined to celebrate their service to him.

Honoured with a seat at the high table and excused from their duties, Alain's three squires found that they had no appetite for the lavish meal laid out before them. Excitement warred with apprehension in Godric's heart and their struggle for supremacy sent tremors of nausea cascading through him. He was overcome with fear. He had dreamed of this moment for so long that he had thought it would forever remain a distant desire. Yet, it had finally arrived and he was assaulted with the fear that he would somehow humiliate himself and make a mockery of the whole ceremony. Godric still couldn't quite believe what was happening. In the eyes of many, he would be considered too young to be receiving such an accolade, but when he had voiced his protests, his friends had dismissed his concerns immediately and told him that he was more worthy of knighthood than many grown men.

The longer the feast continued the more Godric's discomfort increased to almost rival the nerves which had consumed him before his battle with Killer-Bjorn. However, time stands still for no man and Godric's heart skipped when he finally saw Alain rise from his seat and stride to the edge of the raised dais. The clamour slowly seeped from the hall as its inhabitants ceased their talking and even the bounding hounds stopped thrashing in the rushes, all turning to watch Alain call his squires to him. Taking a deep breath, Godric rose from his bench and joined his friends on the dais.

'Nervous?' Salazar whispered gently,

'Yes,' Godric grunted honestly, unable to say more as his stomach twisted painfully. They both glanced at Hamon, who smiled sheepishly before he nodded in agreement.

'Been cooped up in the privy all day,' he blanched and shifted uncomfortably, his bowels churning, 'but that could be due that bloody potion we drank last night rather than nerves…'

Hamon's humour provoked a chuckle from Godric and Salazar, before they all fell silent. Like Godric, his friends were dressed in their finest cloaks and he saw the same nerves which assailed him reflected in Hamon's stiff stance and Salazar's rapidly paling skin. All three were very conscious of every gaze in the hall being fixed upon them.

'Welcome,' Alain said in a loud and clear voice, 'friends and kinsmen. As Lord of Avalon, you have been invited to my hall to rejoice in the winter festivities and to bear witness to this joyful event as these three young men are honoured with knighthood.'

A flurry of applause and whistles broke out until Alain raised a hand to quell it. The Lord of Avalon appeared uncharacteristically solemn as he beckoned Hugh forward and Godric saw that the castellan held a sheathed sword in his hands. He held it out in offering to Alain, who clasped a hand about the hilt and drew it in one swift motion. The blade shone as it caught the flickering torchlight.

'Kneel,' Alain commanded with the same tone he used on the battlefield, which urged his squires to obey him instantly. He shifted his position until he loomed above Hamon, the blade held steady over the Muggle's bowed head.

'You have many qualities, son of Hugh,' Alain said resolutely, 'that befit a knight. You have a grounded mind, a stout heart and unbreakable loyalty. You may not have been born with magical blood, but what you lack in magic you make up for in bravery and a skill at arms that is the envy of many your age. Truly, there are few men who can wield a lance better than you. Hamon, you are a worthy heir to your father, which is the greatest compliment I can give you. Hugh has been an invaluable shield and loyal friend for more than twenty years; I hope you will one day bear the same responsibilities for your own friends, for any lord would be privileged to count you amongst the knights of their household.'

Alain lowered the sword and swiftly touched it against Hamon's shoulders, dubbing him with the flat of the blade, before gesturing for Hamon to stand. But just as the tawny-haired man had regained his feet, a clenched fist struck him hard across the face. Hamon stumbled slightly at Alain's unexpected punch, but recovered before anyone noticed. Impressively, he didn't make a sound, although Godric heard most of their onlookers gasp at the sudden violence of the unfamiliar custom.

'Let that blow be a lesson, Hamon FitzHugh,' Alain told him sternly, 'to remind you of your duties as a knight.' Hamon met Alain's gaze squarely and nodded, his face reddening from a mix of his bruising skin and humble embarrassment at Alain's praise.

Alain moved on to Salazar, who knelt beside Hamon and kept his head bowed as decorum demanded. Godric thought he heard Salazar gulp nervously as he sensed the sword hovering above him.

'Salazar,' Alain finally broke the silence, 'When we first met in London, you showed only a glimmer of promise, like the trickle of water down a hillside. Yet, since coming to Avalon, this potential has become a flood, nurtured until a man now kneels before me. When I saw you stand before the might of Britain and fearlessly defend your friend's life, I saw a wizard standing before me who could reshape and guide our world out of the encroaching darkness. You have always said that mastering your magic counted as a greater achievement to you than acquiring knighthood. Yet, a knight's status will prove to be an advantage when you delve into politics and may lead to unlooked for allies whose support can aid you in your ventures. The fates have blessed you with a mind as fast as your wand-hand; make sure you use such talents well…'

Alain dubbed Salazar, the blade barely touching the younger man's shoulders. Once the sword lifted away, Salazar rose to his feet to face Alain's strike. When it came, Salazar barely flinched. Only then would he meet Alain's gaze, indicating that he had understood the meaning behind the Lord of Avalon's words.

'Rise, Salazar Slytherin,' Alain said, 'and remember that it is your ancestors who would be honoured to have such an accomplished heir share their name.'

Salazar blinked, tears of pride threatening to spill from his grey eyes as Alain turned aside and finally came to his nephew. Godric could feel his heart hammering against his chest, but he kept his head bowed as Alain's boots stepped into view.

'So we come to my sister's son,' said Alain, 'you left me greatly troubled when first we met, Godric. I remember wondering how this boy could be related to me by blood, this sickly child who cowered and flinched when he should have stood tall, and who shirked away from all attention like a wraith from light. I despaired, thinking that I had left you for too long in your father's hands and feared that the harm done to you would prove irreversible. Yet, even then I sensed that your heart had courage, and a desire to succeed. I was content to wait for the time when you would unfold your wings and soar…

'Truthfully, I did not expect it to come so soon. The man stood before me, the very embodiment of the heroism of your bloodline, bears no resemblance to the timid boy who first crossed Avalon's threshold. You have already faced trials which have endangered your life and crossed swords with deadly enemies. Still, you survived, exceeding all our expectations. Believe me when I say that you have done more to deserve this accolade than many knights I know. Hugh once told me that you had the makings of a great paladin. I must agree with him, for I could not have hoped to dream of a more valiant and virtuous nephew.'

Godric felt the weight of the sword against his shoulders, before being lifted free. He rose to his feet and instinctively braced for the blow to come. When Alain delivered it, Godric took it as bravely as his companions and the fist left a bruising welt which burned fiercely. Yet, Godric paid no heed to the stinging pain, for all he could think of was the lesson his uncle had imparted with the blow. His nights were still sometimes disturbed by the haunting memory of the forester lying dead, his mutilated body discarded carelessly in the same woods the man he had stalked for years, were still fresh in his mind. Godric was determined to protect those innocents, like the forester's murdered daughter, who were unable to defend themselves against the wickedness of evil men. Alain's jarring blow reinforced the message.

Alain paused and a small smile finally displaced the solemn expression he had worn since the ceremony began.

'A knight deserves a byname,' Alain said loudly, 'and your companions each bear the name of their bloodlines. You cannot be known as Godric of Avalon forever, long after you have left this island to win honour and renown. We must settle on a byname that does you justice, wouldn't you agree?'

'If you say so, Lord,' Godric answered solemnly,

'Good,' Alain's smile widened, 'do you remember the ritual you completed when our friend Ollivander the Wandmaker fashioned you the wand you wield?'

'Yes, Lord,'

'So you remember,' Alain continued, fully aware that the crowd were listening attentively to their discussion, 'that during the dream-state you envisioned taking the form of a great gryffin and that your wand shares its core with the mystical beast. You have the heart of a lion, Godric, and the device of your father's family suits you well. Loyal, bold, honourable and strong; these are virtues that you share with the gryffin and your byname should reflect it. By your will, from this day hence you shall be known to all as Godric Gryffindor.'

Godric eyes were bright as his uncle turned away from him and sheathed the great sword. _Gryffindor_. He liked the name and thought that his uncle had chosen well. It was a name fit for a hero and Godric grinned at the realisation that it was in his power to make sure that the name of Godric Gryffindor resounded in halls and songs for a thousand years.

Alain raised a hand and gestured for three servants to attend him. They slipped from their places, approaching the dais with arms laden with thick bundles of wrapped wool. Upon reaching the waiting men, they revealed the gifts that the Lord of Avalon bestow on the trio, unwrapping the layers of cloth to reveal the regalia of a knight. Custom dictated that a lord should invest a newly dubbed knight with their arms and Alain had not shirked from this duty.

Godric could only gawp as he beheld the gifts Alain wished to bequeath to them. The bundled cloth concealed a great shield, the wooden boards painted red. Laid upon it were a coat of mail polished to a glistening shine and a colourful tabard. Both Godric's shield and the tabard were emblazoned with the gold lion of his father's family, rampant and roaring on a field of blood. Godric stared at the device, a tempest of emotions whirling within him.

Then his gaze turned to the gilded scabbard and the newly fashioned sword stored within it, forged by the finest human swordsmiths. Godric held his breath as Alain picked up each blade in turn and held them out for each man to take. Godric seized the scabbard and immediately drew it in one fluid motion. The sword glimmered in the torchlight, casting into sharp relief the twirling symbols expertly engraved into the blade. It was as well made as any sword forged by men, but in Godric's awed opinion it was the greatest weapon ever crafted.

With considerable effort, he eventually managed to draw his attention away from the sword in his hand to see Alain fulfilling his duty as a wizarding master and handing Salazar a new wand. This was a custom which symbolised the conclusion of a wizard's apprenticeship and the sleek wooden instrument had been masterfully crafted. It suited his friend well, eliciting a warm glow from the wand's tip as its rightful master grasped it for the first time. Salazar's gaze was mesmerised by the wand and the satisfied smile on his lips was as genuine as any Godric had seen. When Alain turned to Godric and passed him his wand, the young wizard felt the familiar bond of companionship he had felt when he was eleven and knew that his wand delighted in being returned to its master's hand.

The ceremony was not yet done. Alain stepped back to scrutinise the young knights standing before him, his solemn façade momentarily returning as he prepared to conclude the knighting.

'Do you swear to let fate guide these wands and swords to only do good, and to be used to protect the innocent who cannot defend themselves…'

'I swear,' all three knights replied firmly,

'Do you swear to observe the laws of the realm and uphold the honour of your forbears, the fellowship of warriors who now stand in stone within the walls of Avalon?'

'I swear,' they repeated soberly, all three men aware of the great lineage of warriors and heroes who had sworn these same oaths and to whose fellowship they stood on the brink of joining.

'I will not force you to swear an oath to me,' Alain confessed with a smile, 'the days when I could demand your obedience are now over. From this day forth, you are free to do as your own heart wishes. Any lord would be fortunate…'

Alain was interrupted by Salazar, who suddenly stepped forward and swiftly knelt at the Lord of Avalon's feet.

'Lord Alain,' he cried in the eloquent voice he had used to address the Wizengamot. Tears were streaming unchecked down Salazar's face, 'I am only here because of your intervention. I kneel to you now, as a knight and wizard, because your hand has guided me to this point. I owe you and Avalon a debt that I can never repay. Lord, you may not ask for my oath, but I give it to you freely. What is mine is yours, Lord, and may I always serve you loyally and put your life before my own…'

Salazar's elegant speech appeared to have rendered a dumbstruck Alain speechless. But before his stunned expression could fade, Godric followed his friend's lead and fell to one knee. He smiled as his uncle's gaze turned to him.

'These are dangerous times, Lord, and it would be dishonourable to abandon you now. You've protected me and armed me with the tools to defend myself. Tonight, you have made me a knight. Now, it is time I do for you what you have done since I was a child. If I can defend you I will. I'm also told that I'm good in a fight…' Godric added in a rare glimpse of arrogance, provoking a knowing chuckle from his friend's in Alain's retinue, 'and if there are battles to come, then I will be honoured to stand by your side. You have my oath, Lord. May my life be forfeit if I fail you...'

Not to be outdone, Hamon knelt beside his companions and grinned roguishly,

'You can't trust a wizard to do anything right,' the Muggle said cheekily, shattering the ceremonial decorum with his good-humour, 'you asked me to be a shield, Lord, so I guess I'll have to make sure that these two don't hurt themselves. Lord, my oath was always yours, like my father before me.'

For a moment, Alain was so overcome with emotion that he could not speak. Tears glistened in his eyes at their show of loyalty and his steely eyes blazed with both pride and affection. Godric noticed how his hands shook slightly and when he spoke, his voice was choked.

'So be it,' he said softly, regaining a semblance of control, 'then arise, knights of Avalon. May Merlin and the gods of all men grant you a long and prosperous life.' Alain helped each of them to their feet and embraced them warmly, before encouraging them to face the household. They were met with a great clamour of cheers as Avalon's inhabitants surged to their feet and applauded them.

It all came as a blur to Godric. Stood at the shoulder of his two oldest friends, he felt pride finally overcome his lingering disbelief. In the weeks to come, he remembered most clearly the reactions of all those who had played such a prominent part in helping him achieve this long held goal.

Gone was Lambert's disgruntled glower, to be replaced by a wry smile. Belin laughed heartily, Ella smirked and Yusuf applauded politely, pleased for his erstwhile students but looking bored and eager to return to his scrolls so he could escape Thibault's infuriating company. The Fae-Whisperer and her priestesses were smiling serenely, whilst a grin even cracked Hugh's impenetrable scowl and the members of Alain's retinue whistled loudly and cheered the loudest of all. The Lady of Avalon remained seated, beaming proudly at the three knights she had mothered since they were boys, tears streaming unchecked down her pale face and relief that their swords and wands would still be there to defend Alain against his mustering enemies.

Godric remembered little else of that night and the festivities which followed. Godric Gryffindor was a fae-knight. He had finally ascended to the title he had dreamed of since before he had first lifted a sword which had been discarded on his father's tiltyard. Godric remembered his mother's assurances that he wished to do in life was his choice alone and he wondered what Alys would have thought of her little cub, now grown into a knight who bears the rampant lion of his family.

As the night progressed, Godric cared little for how foolish Godric's unshakable grin made him look or how uproariously drunk Hamon got. He even overlooked Salazar's decision to sit slightly apart, his joy tempered with regret that his first love had not lived to see this moment. All Godric could focus on was the bright future which had now been unveiled. As soon as the winter snows had melted, he would return to Black-Hollow and confront his father. Godric had not seen the man for many years, but when next they met, the second son who had always been ignored would return as a knight who wore a well-earned sword at his hip. Then he'd face Sir Edmund as an equal, with his head held high; for maybe now Godric would have finally done enough to earn his father's respect.

The euphoria which blossomed in Avalon that night did not die for many days…

* * *

Hey everyone. Sorry for the ridiculously long wait for these chapters. I've had a lot going on recently, so this had to wait.

Godric has finally achieved his goal to become a knight. Less action in the last few chapters but I promise the final part of the story will make up for it. However, 'Heart of a Lion' is far from done. I'll be working on the final part over the next few months, so there will be a long wait before I upload another chapter. Hopefully, with war and many more confrontations on the horizon for Godric and Salazar, it will be worth it.

As ever, thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed the story. It means a lot and feel free to keep on letting me know your thoughts.

All the best for the new year.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five: The Devil Returns

**The Devil Returns**

 **Spring 1092**

Black-Hollow had suffered a harsh winter. The people had been battered by heavy snow and cursed by outlaws threatening violence and robbery as they sought refuge from the cold. Fortunately, by the feast day of St Walburga, the winter snow had finally subsided, although the wind remained bitterly cold and a chill lingered in the frost-bitten land. The outlaws returned to their hideouts in the nearby hills and woods, where they were left undisturbed by the Lord of Black-Hollow and free to prey upon unsuspecting travellers.

However, the villagers went about their annual business, waiting patiently for the coming of the spring so that they could venture out to plow the surrounding, sun-drenched fields. The men of Black-Hollow wandered into the nearby copses, for Sir Edmund granted them permission to look for any spare wood needed to repair well-worn tools and aging homesteads. Women went about their monotonous responsibilities, gossiping in groups as they saw to the day to day needs of their friends and neighbours. Their children ran around them in small gaggles, throwing balls of snow and screaming gleefully.

Luckily, only one homestead needed rebuilding, having failed to bear the weight of the falling snow. However, the sound of working men, tittering women and the youthful games of the children came to a premature end when several strangers cantered into Black-Hollow. All toil and talk ceased immediately at their sudden appearance, for none of the villagers had ever seen men dressed so garishly. The riders were garbed in colourful robes, with long bright cloaks which shone in the pale light. Their hoods were raised, hiding their features from the lingering gazes of the curious locals. The villagers shuffled away from the strange men. Despite not being dressed in mail, their easy confidence and the shields hanging from their saddles radiated an aura of power which instantly distinguished them as noblemen.

The Apple of Avalon and the serpent of Slytherin went unrecognised, but many eyes widened at the sight of the golden lion rampaging upon a scarlet field. Yet, the mysterious figure who bore the coat-of-arms of Black-Hollow was not Sir Edmund. He was taller than Sir Edmund, with a stature some of the oldest crones in the village claimed had not been since Sir Edmund's father, the heroic Lord Godric, had marched to Senlac Hill with most of the men of Black-Hollow and never returned. Certainly not since Sir Edmund's first wedding had such exotic visitors come to Black-Hollow. Their interest piqued, the villagers followed the riders as they rode along the road to Sir Edmund's manor. They made sure that they kept their distance and did not disturb them, for their curiosity did not completely overcome the inherent mistrust of knights and strangers.

Godric Gryffindor glanced back at the small crowd of villagers stalking them, grimacing as he returned his gaze to his father's hall. The closer they rode to the manor, the more his heart was tormented by contesting emotions, transforming the organ into a battleground of dread, anger and unlooked for sense of joy. Godric had been born here, the land where for centuries his paternal ancestors had lived, toiled and died. Despite the foreboding memories of the place which had haunted him for most of his young life, Godric felt his resolve strengthening and by the time he had reached the hall's small wooden palisade, he was sure that returning to Black-Hollow was the right choice. After all, now he had been knighted, Godric believed it was time to confront his father.

Alain and Salazar, recognising the importance of this journey to Godric, had decided to accompany the young knight to his father's hall. Hamon and the rest of Alain's followers stayed at a nearby inn, where the Lord of Avalon's gold kept ale and food in good supply. Unsure of how they'd be received, Alain had wisely guessed that the sudden appearance of a retinue of armed knights would cause an unnecessary stir and would lead to accusations that they were here to trouble the natives with mischief. Knowing of Sir Edmund's bitter dislike of the Lord of Avalon and the magic his kind wielded, Alain thought that if only two men supported Godric, then there was less chance of any disagreements breaking out between the Lord of Black-Hollow and his estranged heir.

Halting their horses outside the palisade's timber gate, they were greeted by a single watchman. The retainer did not notice them. Instead, he dozed against his spear, oblivious to the world as he snored lightly. The small crowd of villagers shuffled to a stop behind them and listened eagerly as Godric's loud voice rose up and startled the watchman from his slumber.

'Who are you?' the watchman spluttered rudely, covering a yawn and rubbing at tired eyes with a gloved hand. The watchman did not recognise the tall knight or the flamboyant companions below him and Godric judged that the retainer must have come to Black-Hollow after Godric had been fostered in Avalon.

'A friend,' Godric called back, the retainer's uncouth behaviour already irritating his frayed emotions, 'luckily for you. Is it now common practice for the men of Black-Hollow to sleep on duty and leave Sir Edmund's hall unprotected?'

'What's it to you?' the watchman huffed indignantly, cheeks burning in embarrassment when he glanced past Godric and realised that many of the local villagers were within hearing distance. He coloured and scowled at the newcomers.

'It matters,' Godric answered loudly, 'because by sleeping during your watch you have endangered all who dwell here. If we were enemies rather than knights of Avalon, then you'd already be dead.'

'Who?' the watchman asked in bemusement, his brow furrowing as he gripped his spear tightly, sensing an argument brewing.

'Merlin,' Salazar mumbled quietly, 'are all Muggles so idiotic? This oaf is stupider than Hamon.'

'My name is Godric Gryffindor,' the young knight called coolly, throwing back the mantle of his cloak to reveal his face, 'you are greeting the son of Sir Edmund and the heir to his lands!'

A startled gasp escaped the onlookers as many wide eyes watched the tall, red-headed knight, in disbelief, unable to grasp that this man was the sickly wraith they could scarcely remember. Those who did remember held their children close, pulling them away from the strangers out of a misplaced fear of Godric's cursed existence. Dark tales had been spun by the local priest, tales that he had been fostered by devil-worshippers and pagans in the fae-marshes to the north. These tales had further damaged Godric's already unpleasant reputation amongst the locality. Yet, despite their fears, many chose to remain and watch in fascination as Sir Edmund's infamous son confronted the unfortunate watchman, who quickly paled as he slowly recognised the name.

The retainer disappeared and they could hear him hurriedly conversing with an unseen comrade. Meanwhile, Black-Hollow's gates remained shut, and the three strangers were beginning to sense an insult.

'They do know we can do magic, don't they?' Salazar said drolly, speaking in French so that none of the watching locals could understand. Godric smiled, recognising his friend's amusement. Whilst his grief over Rhyannon's death had lessened as the winds of winter passed, Salazar could still be struck by occasional bouts of misery and self-loathing. It always gladdened Godric's heart to see Salazar regaining some of his old spirit. Alain shook his head in reply, his knowing smirk hidden in the shadows of his grey cloak,

'I doubt any wizard other than us has ever traveled to this place,' Alain explained, stroking his horse's mane to sooth the beast when the tense atmosphere began to unnerve it.

A gruff voice barking orders from behind the closed gate swiftly ended their conversations. The gate began to open with a groan of creaking wood and iron, revealing the first glimpse of his father's hall Godric had seen in over half a decade. Granted entry, Godric led his companions into the small courtyard, their eyes unconsciously scanning the hall for any sign of impending danger.

It was not needed, for Sir Edmund's household knights were content to hover at the edges of the courtyard and not approach the strangers. Starved of entertainment by the closing gates, the villagers disbanded back to Black-Hollow. Back in the courtyard, when Godric glanced at the hall's door, he saw a flash of red hair disappearing as a small figure was quickly ushered into the hall by a fretting maid.

However, their attention was soon drawn to the only figure who dared to greet them and Godric found himself smiling as he recognised Siward's scarred features. He quickly dismounted with accomplished ease and strode to meet his family's most loyal follower. Despite his youth, Godric was already notably taller than most men, but he chuckled when he realised that the old warrior still dwarfed him, having stubbornly refused to yield to the rigors of age. Only his pale white beard and the more grizzled nature of the steward's battle worn face betrayed his age.

'Welcome back,' Siward greeted Godric, who thought he caught a flicker of a smile beneath the man's beard. Salazar and Alain dismounted gracefully behind them.

'It's good to be back,' Godric admitted, returning Siward's smile. The fact that he spoke the truth surprised Godric, because, despite all the abuse he had suffered in Black-Hollow, familial loyalty was buried deep within his heart and still demanded that his heart was drawn to the place of his birth.

'By God, lad,' Siward said, scrutinising the younger man with an experience forged on the field of battle by a man who had spent most of his long life leading men, 'you're the mirror of your grandfather.' The old warrior's pride was obvious and when Siward's eyes fell to the sword girded at Godric's hip, his reluctant smile finally broke forth.

'Your grandfather was a great warrior,' Siward said fondly, 'you must be same if you've been knighted at your age. Can you use that sword?'

'As well as anyone,' Godric replied humbly. Both Salazar and Alain scoffed loudly at Godric's modesty, allowing Siward to read more into their response and Godric's flushing face. The old warrior had served three generations of Godric's family and he had always prided himself on his ability to read men well, silently acknowledging everything Godric had humbly left unsaid.

'Good,' he finally said. He glanced at the shield which hung from Godric's saddle, his gaze momentarily lingering on the rampant lion. He nodded approvingly but didn't comment any further. He suspected that it would be better to not confront the estranged relationship between Godric and Sir Edmund, especially before the two men had had a chance to meet again. Sensing Siward's uncertainty, Godric swiftly directed their conversation down a different road.

'Is it common for the men of Black-Hollow to sleep whilst on watch?' Godric commented lightly, gesturing at the watchman they had encountered on the gate. Realising that he was being scrutinised, the retainer shifted nervously in the wall's shadows. After entering the courtyard, Godric had briefly scanned his father's followers and determined that they lacked the discipline and prowess of the warriors who guarded Avalon.

'That'll be Adam,' Siward grumbled, sending the watchman scarpering with a single withering glare, 'he's usually got a good head on his shoulders, although he's plagued by idleness and thinks more with his prick these days. I swear that if he was rutting with one of the unmarried girls from the village again, I'll thrash the little shit for it.'

'I'm sure a stern talk about his misdeeds will discipline him enough,' Alain interjected, ever the peacemaker. Siward glanced at Alain, his eyes lighting up in recognition as he bowed in respect,

'Greetings, Lord of Avalon,' the old warrior said, 'I apologise for any insult caused by the men of Black-Hollow. We received no word of your coming, or else we would have offered you a warmer welcome.'

'No harm was done,' Alain reassured him, 'the fault is ours. We should have sent a messenger ahead but had little time to do so. We were traveling in the area and Godric insisted that we could not pass by without pausing on our journey. Many years have passed since he was last here.'

'I hope you did not meet with any trouble on the road here.'

'No,' Godric said curiously, 'should we have expected too?'

'Outlaws,' Siward nodded, spitting into the mud, 'bands of the bastards. They're up in the hills and woods between here and Thanesfell. Lately, they've been growing bold, raiding homesteads and assaulting locals. They rob anyone who crosses their path. A young lass went missing a few weeks back and some of your father's deputies were murdered. Sir Edmund will have to clear the bastards out of their lairs by the year's end.'

'Is Sir Edmund home?' Alain asked cautiously

'Sir Edmund is not here,' Siward said apologetically, 'he rode out with an armed guard earlier this morning on a hunting expedition with some of the lords and knights of the neighbouring lords. They left this morning and can be expected to return soon…'

'Great,' Salazar said, 'because we need more people to witness this meeting.'

Siward scowled at Salazar. However, before he could utter a word, he was interrupted by the patter of scurrying feet. A little girl with bright, flaming hair was scampering towards them, having dashed out of the great hall in a bid to escape her nurse and purposefully muddying her skirts by splashing in the puddles on her way. Godric heard Siward release an exasperated groan escape from Siward.

'Eleanor,' a nursemaid called tentatively from the shadows of the hall's door, but her pleas went ignored as the little girl skidded to a halt beside them, almost slipping until the old warrior's undiminished reactions managed to halt her fall. Beaming at the scowling Siward without a trace of remorse, Eleanor turned her curious gaze to the strangers, who were doing their best to smother their amusement.

'What are you doing here?' an aggravated Siward demanded sternly,

'Who are you?' she said inquisitively, completely ignoring the steward as her gaze fell on Godric.

'Eleanor!'

'Siwy, I'm being the lady of the manor,' the little girl explained seriously, hushing the stunned steward in a manner Godric had never witnessed before. Godric admired her bravery; if he'd ever dared to call the old warrior "Siwy" then he was certain he'd have been throttled. Alain smiled at the young girl and Salazar was forced to hastily mask an amused chuckle as a cough. In contrast, Siward's complexion reddened at Eleanor's dismissal, desperately fighting the affectionate smile which threatened to betray the stern glare he leveled at Eleanor.

'Shouldn't you be with your nurse?' the steward scolded her pointedly. Godric glanced at the nursemaid. The woman was obviously terrified of their presence, for she had not moved beyond the threshold of his father's hall and was repeatedly making the sign of the cross to ward off the evil of Godric's presence. He vaguely recognised her from his childhood in Black-Hollow.

'Maybe some people _do_ know we are wizards,' Salazar chuckled dryly. However, not everyone was terrified by the reappearance of the strange boy who had once lived in Black-Hollow. Eleanor was regarding Salazar curiously, before blushing shyly when the handsome wizard met her gaze. Not long ago, this would have amused Salazar greatly, but since Rhyannon's death, he had greeted these attentions with unease. Yet, Eleanor did not dwell on the handsome wizard for long. Instead, her little ears perked up when he mentioned wizards and any talk of sorcery were enough to distract her.

'Who is this?' Alain asked kindly when it appeared that Godric was too lost for words to greet the little girl accordingly.

'I'm the lady of the manor when my father isn't here,' Eleanor said boldly,

'Mm…' Siward murmured doubtfully, but a scowl from the young girl shushed him. Her interest returned to Godric, especially when she glimpsed the shield hanging off his nearby horse and recognised the similarities it shared with her father's coat-of-arms.

'That's a lion,' she said excitedly, pointing at the rampant creature, 'my father has a lion on his shield too.'

'He does,' Godric finally croaked. Eleanor looked up at him and frowned,

'Do you know my father?' she inquired.

'I do,'

'How?'

'Eleanor,' Siward tried to distract her, but his interruption was silenced when Godric held up a hand to calm his protests.

'Because I am his son,' Godric admitted ruefully. His sister regarded him in confusion before her eyes widened and she uttered a startled gasp.

'Godric?' Eleanor inquired tentatively. She seemed astonished that the towering man was her half-brother. When Godric nodded, her face broke into a beaming smile and she practically leaped up and down in unrestrained excitement, 'you're my brother Godric?'

'Yes,' the young knight revealed, laughing at her eccentric behaviour, 'I am your brother.'

Eleanor stopped bouncing, her smile falling as quickly as it had appeared. She suddenly looked concerned and upset.

'I'm sorry I didn't recognise you,' she exclaimed sadly, 'I've never met you before…'

'It's fine,' Godric spluttered in panic, unused to dealing with such swift changes in behaviour, and he'd lived with Salazar for five years, 'as you said, you've never met me before. I did not expect you to know me. Honestly, I'm surprised you've even heard my name?'

'So am I,' Siward interjected, looking bemused, 'your father never talks about you. I didn't think anyone did these days, but I must be wrong.' He didn't seem happy with that realisation.

'Tilda told me,' Eleanor said, pointing at her cowering nurse and causing the woman to shriek in fear, 'but she didn't say very nice things about you. She said that you did bad things.'

Godric snorted and shrugged, although Salazar's brow furrowed disapprovingly. Godric had expected it, for his very existence had once been a point of contention between a knight trying to preserve his familial dynasty and the local people whose fear had been sparked by the strange things his son could do. Yet, not even the lingering prejudices held against him could burst the warm sensation which suddenly stirred within him. He was pleasantly surprised by Eleanor. Whenever Godric had thought about the half-sister he had never met, a little girl forced to live with his morose and temperamental father, he'd expected to find a timid and sorrowful waif rather than the exuberant maid stood before him.

'Are you really a wizard?' Eleanor blurted out abruptly, unable to contain herself. Siward almost choked at her impropriety.

'Yes,' Godric answered cautiously, unsure of how she knew, but wagering that his father wasn't responsible for it.

'Can you really do magic?'

'Yes,' Godric replied, provoking delighted laughter from Eleanor.

'Tilda said that you can turn me into a toad,' Eleanor babbled enthusiastically, 'she says that wizards come to take naughty children away. She said wizards eat them or turn them into slimy toads…'

'How delightful,' Salazar commented dryly, revolted by the ignorance of Muggles.

'Could you do it?' Eleanor continued, looking at Godric expectantly.

'I can if you want?' Godric replied in bewilderment. He'd never turned anyone into a toad, although admittedly there were many occasions when he had been tempted to transfigure both his sworn brothers when their jests began to nettle his patience.

Eleanor looked appalled.

'I don't want to be a toad,' she said incredulously, 'you could turn Tilda into a horse when she annoys me. I could ride one then; father never lets me near his horses.'

'I wonder why,' Siward muttered beneath his breath, exchanging a knowing glance with Godric. The young knight's expression turned sheepish.

'Show me magic,' Eleanor demanded enthusiastically. Godric raised a questioning eyebrow at Siward, who merely shrugged expressionlessly. Looking back at his expectant sister, Godric discovered that he didn't have the heart to disobey her.

Godric drew his wand and effortlessly summoned a discarded bucket and stray stone to him, eliciting a startled gasp from the Muggle onlookers. Then, with a wave of his wand, the two objects shifted shape as they were engulfed by multiple tendrils of magic until the transformation was over and two dolls sat in their place. One was a knight clothed in a scarlet tabard and the other was a woman, clad in robes befitting a princess. Smiling in satisfaction, Godric was about to hand them over to his sister when he felt a spell slip past his arm. An intricately woven golden lion appeared upon the small knight's breast. Salazar smiled, clearly the culprit as he holstered his wand. The servants and retainers who watched on murmured in amazement, for many of them had never witnessed magic being cast before. Even Siward seemed warily impressed by.

Eleanor gasped in awed delight, a reaction so reminiscent of Godric when he had first been exposed to the magic of Avalon that it caused both Alain and Salazar to burst into a laughter.

'She's definitely your sister,' Salazar chuckled as Eleanor squealed her thanks and leaped up to take the dolls from a grinning Godric's hands and hugged them tightly. Her enthusiasm instantly brightened Black-Hollow's gloomy atmosphere.

'Now, run along,' Siward told her, abruptly interrupting Eleanor's intelligible chatter.

'But I'm being a lady…' Eleanor tried to protest, her ecstatic behaviour coming to an end. 'Eleanor,' Siward said sternly, emphasising the foolishness of trying his patience. Eleanor must have recognised it, for she sighed dramatically and the foot she was prepared to stamp halted immediately. She glared at Siward, before turning back to her brother and his companions, staring up at Godric with large, hopeful eyes.

'If you stay for a meal,' Eleanor said to him, 'can you sit beside me? I want to see more magic.'

'I wouldn't dream of sitting anywhere else,' Godric promised with a chuckle. She flashed a happy smile at the three visitors before scurrying away, her face glowing with glee as she reached the disapproving Tilda and was quickly ushered into the hall.

'She has the servants wrapped around her little finger,' Siward said grudgingly.

'Not just the servants,' Godric smirked, having noticed the effort SIward had gone to keep a smile off his face. Not even Salazar, the most cynical and jaded of them all, could find any harsh words to say about little Eleanor. Siward grunted, shaking his head knowingly.

'She's a light in this dark place,' Siward said with an honesty and sadness which belied his usually thorny exterior, 'although it's been many years not since anyone has demanded my attention as much as she does. Not since you were a boy. As you've probably realised, she has your curiosity.'

'Merlin help you,' Godric chuckled wryly, pitying the steward. Then noticed Siward's bemused expression,

'Merlin?' Siward asked in confusion,

'Sorry,' Godric apologised sheepishly, 'I forgot Muggles are unaccustomed to wizarding ways.'

'I know who Merlin is, lad,' Siward said ruefully, before looking at Godric appraisingly, 'although I always thought he was just a myth conjured by a clever poet. Don't pity me so badly. Eleanor isn't quite as problematic as you. For such a sickly child, you always had a way of finding trouble. I've never forgotten that incident with the horse…'

'Neither have I,' Godric murmured softly. It was hard to forget his first memory of magic when he had accidentally apparated away from a bolting horse. It felt like the incident had occurred in another lifetime; a different world where he was still a second son with a mother and brother he could depend upon. But that world had been lost to Godric a long time ago. He thought of the happy little girl he'd just met and feared for her, 'has Eleanor any signs of magic?'

'No,' Siward sighed. Alain was well versed in the timeless mistrust many Muggles had of wizards and ignored the steward's inability to mask his relief. Alain, who was used to Muggle prejudice and mistrust, ignored the slip. Salazar, less experienced than his former master, couldn't fully hide his irritation. Godric wasn't angered, for he understood the catalyst for Siward's relief. The steward didn't want Black-Hollow's villagers treating Eleanor like they had Godric. Godric shared the steward's sentiments, for he would never wish for Eleanor to be exposed to the same abuses he had suffered.

'Nothing out of the ordinary anyway,' Siward continued, 'not like you. Strange, unexplained happenings had a habit of occurring in your presence, even as a babe. Floating objects, missing items and bursting sparks which crackled like lightning when you were angered.'

'Such things are common in children with magical blood,' Alain explained helpfully, 'no child can control magic without training.'

'Well, it's not his father's blood which causes it,' Siward noted, 'I've served the Lords of Black-Hollow since Godric's grandfather's day and no one showed any hint of magic until Godric. It must have come from his mother…'

'Is that so bad?' Salazar asked peevishly.

'I meant no insult,' Siward growled, scowling at the disapproval which radiated from the proud young wizard, 'I have known many women in my life, but I have admired none more than Lady Alys. She was a serene little thing, but her frail body hid an iron will and a spirit which could rival many of the warriors I have known. Especially when it came to her children.'

'She was a good woman,' Alain noted solemnly, 'I intend to visit her grave whilst I am here. As her brother, it shames me to have shirked that duty for so long.'

'That is honourable, Lord,' Siward said, pleased with Alain's decision, 'and I can understand why you have delayed it. Sir Edmund is not the most receptive of men these days, especially when it comes to magic.'

'Hopefully, that will change,' Godric muttered softly.

After signally for the servants to take the men of Avalon's horses to the stables, Siward had just begun to usher the three travelers towards Black-Hollow's hall when a distracted watchman cried out that a band of riders was galloping towards the manor. His shout echoed off the timber walls, shortly followed by the rolling thunder of approaching hooves. A pair of retainers hurried to reopen the gates and a dozen mounted men rode clattered into the courtyard, armed with hunting spears and short bows. A pack of barking hounds leaping about their horses, whilst servants followed them at a run, bearing the prizes of a successful hunt.

The leading rider brought his horse to a sudden halt, a hawk perched on his outstretched hand ruffling its feathered wings attentively. He frowned in surprise at the sight of the three majestic horses being led to the stables and the jubilation of the hunting party was swiftly replaced by loud gasps of admiration and envy when they saw the mighty steeds of Avalon. Ignoring his companions and the irate falcon flapping madly on his arm, the riders gaze shifted from the horses to the great hall until they locked upon the four men standing at its threshold.

For the first time in six years, the Lord of Black-Hollow locked gazes with his estranged son. He hid his shock at Godric's miraculous apparition well, but the slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed his well-hidden emotions. Godric stared back just as expressionlessly, the icy claw of dread enveloping his heart. The years had not been kind to Sir Edmund of Black-Hollow. Waxy skin, tired eyes, and a diminished stature all suggested that Sir Edmund had met hardship in the years since Godric was fostered in Avalon.

Nevertheless, Sir Edmund's gaze still sent a shiver down the younger man's spine, for the last time it had fallen upon Godric, the Lord of Black-Hollow's hands had stained with his son's blood. The strained silence was palpable, until Siward, ever the mediator between them, could no longer stomach their quarrel and sought to intervene.

'Sir Edmund,' the steward called out, 'we have visitors from Avalon. I was about to offer them a meal at your table.'

'Thank you, Siward,' Sir Edmund said curtly, unable to take his eyes from his son. The Lord of Black-Hollow would never admit it, but it was as if Sir Edmund had been flung back into the past to the year where three battles had decided the fate of England. He remembered returning from a similar hunting expedition with his elder brother and their household warriors. Sir Edmund had killed his first boar that day, and when they returned it was to find his father standing at the threshold of his hall where he welcomed them with a proud smile upon his battle-scarred face.

Now, the imposing figure who stood outside his hall was a son he was loathed to admit siring, but who looked like Sir Edmund's father reborn. Except for those cursed eyes, an heirloom of his mother's blood and which regarded Sir Edmund just as coldly as the glare he was receiving. The Lord of Black-Hollow's gaze briefly fell to the sword at Godric's hip and the young knight felt pride bloom within him when another flicker of shock crossed over his father's face.

'Avalon?' one of Sir Edmund's companions asked inquisitively, confused by the presence of these exotic strangers and obviously unfamiliar Alain's coat-of-arms, 'who are these strangers, Sir Edmund?'

'This is Lord Alain,' Sir Edmund finally found his voice. He looked as if he'd been forced to swallow poison as he dragged his gaze away from Godric to glare at his erstwhile brother-in-law, a man he hated more than any other, 'he is the ruler of Avalon and the brother of my first wife.'

Alain bowed his fair head and smiled amicably, despite having little respect for Sir Edmund. He chose to ignore the venomous glare he was receiving from the Lord of Black-Hollow.

'It is an honour to see you again, brother,' Alain commented, before greeting Sir Edmund's companions. None bowed back, for they were still stunned by the appearance such a great lord. Yet, their astonishment was amplified when Sir Edmund was shaken from his bitter stupor and gestured at the three strangers.

'My son Godric was fostered in Lord Alain's household,' the Lord of Black-Hollow explained coolly, 'he now stands amongst the Lord of Avalon's companions.'

Godric tensed as all of Sir Edmund's companions gaped in his direction. Some may have remembered the young man's name, but Godric doubted that they would see much of the little, timid child he had been in the man stood before them.

Sir Edmund dismounted, thrusting the reins into the hands of a passing servant and giving the hawk to his falconer. He appeared conflicted, his hesitance a clear indication of how unwelcome the men of Avalon were. But adherence to custom soon overcame his unwillingness to host the unexpected arrivals. Sir Edmund fiddled with his heavy cloak as he addressed them, refusing to look at his guests.

'Welcome to Black-Hollow.'

Standing at the threshold of the hall where he had been born, Godric had never felt more unwelcome in his life.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six: Old Wounds

**Old Wounds**

The feast was a poor and meager affair. The winter had been harsh and their stores had not been replenished. However, the deer, hares, and wildfowl caught during the hunt were swiftly prepared in the kitchens and served at Sir Edmund's trestle. The atmosphere in Black-Hollow's hall was taut with unresolved animosity. No music or laughter eased the permeating hostility and the drab furnishings did little to improve the mood, for Black-Hollow contrasted greatly with the rich warmth Morwenna had established in Avalon. Cold and somber, more joy could be found in a parish graveyard during that feast. This hall was the heart of Sir Edmund's manorial court and it was a true reflection the nobleman's bleak disposition.

The conversation was sparse, although Alain, granted a seat beside the Lord of Black-Hollow due to tradition rather than honour, tried his best to speak with all the knightly guests who feasted at the table. He barely received a response from his fellow noblemen, who cast a wary eye over the garishly clad strangers. Salazar found this infuriating and looked very disgruntled with the lack of hospitality shown to them in Sir Edmund's hall. Most of the attention strayed to Godric, as if they were unable to believe that the mysterious heir to Black-Hollow had returned. Rumours were prevalent in the hills and markets surrounding Black-Hollow, claiming that Godric practiced the old ways of the odd nomads who clung to the wilds and old pagan rituals. Godric did his best to maintain his composure, but he hated being the centre of attention and with his father sat only a few feet away from his place at the table, the young knight was struggling to remain calm.

Their companions at the table did nothing to improve Godric's mood. Sir Walter of Thanesfell was a man who rarely contributed to a conversation unless it was to boast about his life and wealth. He was a short, wide-chested knight, who had profited from his father's hard-won battles in the years following the Conquest and grown fat on the revenues he bullied from his terrified tenants. He was the Lord of Thanesfell, a castle named after the poor Saxon nobleman who had previously ruled the stretch of fertile land and who met his death at Walter's father's sword. The Saxon's hall had been burned and a castle of earth and timber was erected in its place. Thanesfell was the only castle in the surrounding land and thus gave Sir Walter a sense of entitlement over the local people.

Sir Walter's son was intolerable. Arrogant and conceited, Simon of Thanesfell was everything Godric hated in a man. He was nothing more than a pimple-faced youth with an overinflated sense of self-worth and entitlement born from his Norman blood and the exploits of greater kinsmen. Godric and Salazar, both fostered in the household of one of Britain's greatest magnates and who had dined at the King's table, found his misplaced arrogance laughable. However, they were forced to listen politely to tales of Simon's skill-at-arms, which were solely confined to the tiltyard or hunt. To hear the youth laud his own prowess, many men would be forgiven for thinking that he had slain a rampaging mystical beast or broken a battle-line of hardened warriors.

'Father says he's going to get me a place at the King's Court,' Simon boasted to a pair of simpering cronies, 'he says the King will be fortunate to have a warrior like me amongst his courtiers.'

Godric and Salazar exchanged a glance, their minds turning to rebellious barons like Robert of Belleme. They had to quickly stifle their laughter at the ludicrous thought of a minor nobleman like Simon inspiring fear in men like Belleme.

'Is that so,' Godric replied cordially, scarcely paying attention to a word Simon was saying. He glanced towards his father. Sir Edmund played idly with his meal, silent, and brooding. He had not looked at his son once since entering the hall.

'Father says I have the makings of a great knight,' Simon continued, 'the man I sparred against was unconscious for days after crossing swords with me.'

'Lucky him,' Salazar grumbled beneath his breath, although it did not escape Simon's ears. The youth's eyes narrowed at the two strangers, sensing an insult.

'What would you know of it?' he sneered haughtily,

'I know enough,' Salazar snorted casually, 'we've fought in battle before.'

'I don't believe you,' Simon said snottily, eying Salazar disbelievingly, you're no older than I am. Going by the clothes you wear, I'd say you're no more than a mere scribe, or a merchant with ambitions far above his status. You're no knight…'

'They have swords,' Eleanor piped up with a mischievous smile, 'all knights have swords. How can they slay dragons and rescue princesses if they don't have swords?'

Godric smiled at his sister. Eleanor was the only source of warmth at the feast, for she was young and ignorant of the awkward tension that hung heavy at the table. Godric noticed she was wearing a clean dress and had a kitten with her, a mangy creature Eleanor doted upon as she fed it scraps of meat. Eleanor giggled as the cat purred deeply and clawed at her fingertips. The scarlet-clad doll Godric had transfigured lay beside her and she picked up the knight with his sheathed sword to make her point.

'See,' she stressed pointedly, thrusting it into Simon's incredulous face so that he could see the finely stitched sword, 'knights have swords!'

'They look like prized possessions,' one of the noblemen commented, looking impressed as he eyed the well-crafted figures with interest and thinking of purchasing one for his own daughters, 'who got her such a gift?'

'I did,' Godric answered, 'they were a gift for my sister.'

'Half-sister,' Sir Edmund interjected quietly, gulping down a large mouthful of poor wine and speaking for the first time since the feast began. The table immediately fell silent, whilst the steward, who was occupied with overseeing the servants, paused to watch on warily in case the situation escalated into violence. But Godric only tensed and chose not to respond to his father's churlish barb.

'Sir Alain,' said Sir Walter tactfully as he stroked his iron-grey beard and tried to deftly steer the conversation to more stable pastures, 'I was not aware that there was a Lord of Avalon?'

'That is no fault of your own,' Alain replied affably, 'it is a mysterious title for a mysterious land. Many men, from magnates to villeins, believe it only exists in folktales or has not heard of it at all. However, in certain circles, it is held in high esteem.'

'Are we not worthy of being included in these circles?' sniped Simon imprudently. His mind was clouded with drink and he allowed his youthful misplaced pride to govern his tongue. Sir Walter notably kept silent rather than rebuke his son for his impertinence, although his disapproval was obvious.

'That is for the King to decide,' Salazar replied, crossing his arms, 'when you have Rufus's counsel, then I am sure he will confide in you all the secrets of his kingdom.'

Once again, the guests succumbed to an awkward silence. Simon had been drinking since the hunt had begun and his speech was slurred and his eyes unfocused. Now, Simon glared at Salazar, who merely smirked in reply. Traditionally, the duty of soothing disgruntled guests and rising tempers would fall to the Lord of Black-Hollow, but it had been clear from the outset that only his obligation as a host had forced Sir Edmund into providing for the travelers who visited him. Besides, the feast was poor and Godric suspected that Black-Hollow's best foods were still hidden untouched in the storehouse.

'Who do you think you are, speaking to me?' Simon snapped, his drunken temper flaring, 'do you know who I am?'

'An idiot?' Salazar guessed blandly,

'You dare!'

'Peace,' Alain's voice hailed them sternly, puncturing the growing quarrel as Eleanor exhaled, staring wide-eyed at her feasting companions as she finally noticed the rising hostility, 'we are all friends here. Salazar, leave the young man alone. We are guests in Sir Edmund's hall and your behaviour is unbecoming of a knight of Avalon…'

'Knight?' Sir Edmund said faintly, seeking clarification to the curiosity which had nagged him since he had first seen the sword at Godric's hip. He turned to regard Godric with an unreadable expression.

'Yes,' Godric replied casually. He was proud of his newfound status as a knight of Avalon and he was determined not to let his father discredit the achievement. It was a harder task in reality, for his discomfort was growing rapidly the longer the meal progressed.

'They're not knights!' Simon protested.

'That is a great accomplishment,' Sir Walter acknowledged, ignoring his son, 'especially for ones so young. You're barely older than Simon here.'

'I swear on my honour as a knight that it was well deserved,' Salazar said proudly. Godric snorted, knowing that Salazar had little concern for his Muggle title unless it served the same purpose.

'Who decided that?' Simon snapped enviously,

'I did,' Alain said courteously, 'and what Salazar says is true. Their knighting was well deserved, for Godric and Salazar have faced many trials whilst in my service and survived them all. After all, if it wasn't for Godric here, then I would have died in battle a year ago.'

'Battle?' One of the noblemen spluttered, looking at Godric with new eyes.

'We were ambushed in the northern hills whilst serving the King,' Salazar explained eloquently, 'it was a hard fight, but one we won.'

'Pah,' Simon scoffed disdainfully, 'northerners can't fight. All their real warriors were killed years enough. What are a few English dogs against well-armed knights?'

'Tell that to Robert de Comines and all the men who died with him when the rebels sacked Durham,' Alain said coolly, 'I've fought the English before and found them to be heroic fighters. But the men who ambushed us were not rebels, but killers whose swords were hired to slay me. Godric fought and killed the man who led them, saving my life by doing so.'

The feasting noblemen gaped at Godric, who struggled to maintain his unaffected expression as he squirmed at his uncle's praise.

'He's my brother,' Eleanor whispered proudly to a stricken Simon, bouncing excitedly on her bench at the mention of Godric's prowess.

'So this why you have returned? Sir Edmund said quietly, placing his knife upon the table. Godric stared at him, struggling to read the Lord of Black-Hollow,

'Yes,' he eventually admitted, 'now I am a knight and my fostering in Avalon is over I can make my fortune. I thought it time that I returned to Black-Hollow.'

'Did you?' Sir Edmund frowned slightly, drinking a mouthful of wine before dirtying his sleeve as he wiped his lips clean of any stains. He still hadn't looked at his son once since taking a seat at the table, 'so you say you are free of that place. Yet, you come here in _his_ company?'

'I swore an oath,' Godric answered, bristling but studiously trying to ignore his father's misplaced diatribe, 'to serve Lord Alain. I will do my duty as a household knight to a great magnate of the realm.'

'You are ensnared,' Sir Edmund concluded with a humourless snort, 'you are chained to that place by the perversions this cripple practices. You are nothing but a slave…'

Alain sighed tiredly, for he had heard Sir Edmund spout the same accusations when the wizard had confronted him in the aftermath of Rufus's coronation.

'I've heard people say that Avalon is a godless place,' Simon said, sneering at Salazar, 'where heretics practice witchcraft and dark creatures kidnap maidens to feast on their flesh and lure knights to their doom.'

'We don't eat them,' Salazar said cordially, 'we just sacrifice them to our pagan gods.'

Simon's sneer was replaced by a look of horror. His cronies eyed the young wizard cautiously, uncertain whether he was speaking truthfully.

'You jest,'

'Do I?' Salazar challenged him, smiling mischievously, 'it's Godric's favourite pastime, challenging travelers to duels. Once their dead, he feasts on them before sleeping on a bed of skulls. He's a nightmarish fiend, for the name of Gryffindor makes men shiver in Avalon.'

'Salazar,' Godric warned half-heartedly. Eleanor giggled at Salazar's antics, displaying no inkling of fear.

'He's barely a man,' Simon sputtered incredulously, although he repeatedly glanced at Godric guardedly, 'Avalon must be in desperate need of warriors if they are willing to give knighthoods to children.' Salazar actually laughed. One look at Hugh would make such a suggestion laughable.

'There are many reasons why men should fear those who dwell there,' Salazar continued.

'Why should we fear you?'

Salazar lit an orb of magic in the palm of his hand. It was an old trick to impress servants and only demonstrated a hint of the power Salazar could summon with his wand. But to the eyes of men who had rarely been exposed to magic, having only occasionally come across the nomadic hedge-wizards who fleeting visited the local markets to sell their charmed crafts, it was an unnerving sight. The flickering light nestled between Salazar's long fingers, causing his eyes to glow.

'They can do magic,' Eleanor said innocently, a lot less impressed by the display as she had been when she'd first seen magic.

'See,' Sir Edmund continued, 'you are a slave to wizards.'

'Wizards?' the noblemen gasped. Godric stared at them quizzically, generally surprised by the sudden fear which clouded their eyes. The young knight had spent so long amongst wizards, he'd forgotten about how prevalent the prejudices Muggles held for magical folk were, deeming them to be unsavoury characters who wandered the wilds and who they treated with suspicion. In the eyes of many Muggles, wizards were landless rogues who roamed the kingdom spreading mischief with their reviled magic. Consequently, many knights refused to condone the use of magic in their lands.

The prejudices of the secular nobility, combined with the Church's condemnation of magic, had led some wizards to seek an escape from the injustices heaped upon them by living in small communes of sorcerers on the fringes of society. They were treated worse than lepers and Jews, mistrusted and loathed because of the magic they were born with and blamed for any ill deeds which occurred in the land. However, those who were exposed more frequently to magic, such as kings and the Muggles who inhabited magical lands like those ruled by the Lord of Avalon, willingly accepted wizards as friends and allies, valuing magic's usefulness and seeing them as healers and fine craftsmen.

'What's wrong with wizards?' Salazar challenged Sir Edmund rudely, before being silently rebuked by the sharp look Alain cast at him. The scowl never left Salazar's face and Simon edged away from them, so nervous that he almost stumbled off the bench in his haste to ward off the evil of their presence. Sir Edmund glared coldly at Salazar but refused to respond.

'It is not enslavement which keeps Godric at my side, Edmund,' Alain objected smoothly, seemingly unfazed by the rising tension which unsettled the hall, 'but loyalty and mutual necessity. My influence protects Godric, whilst your son protects my land. He has proven to be a valuable addition to the warriors of my household…'

'Magic,' Edmund scoffed derisively, glaring with disdain at the Lord of Avalon, 'magic is an unholy affliction, a disease of the soul and a practice wielded by pagan sinners.'

'I see the Church has already poisoned your mind,' Alain remarked sadly, 'I finally see why Godric made no protests when he left this place.'

'You have corrupted him!'

'You would have left him untrained?' Alain asked softly, 'and you do not know the danger it can cause. Amongst wizards, it's commonly known that if youngsters are left to their own devices, without a means of channeling their growing magic, then they will die. They may even endanger others.'

'If God wills it,' Edmund muttered darkly.

A loud clang interrupted the tide of his vile vitriol as Eleanor suddenly gasped aloud. Teasing the kitten by dangling torn strips of meat above it so that the feline's paws tickled her fingers, she unwittingly knocked over a goblet of spiced wine with a flailing elbow, spilling the contents all over her nearest companions and her own dress. The goblet rolled and fell with a dull thud to the rush-strewn floor, bringing an end to the argument.

'By God, child,' Edmund suddenly roared, venting his rising anger on Eleanor's clumsiness with such fury it caused her to jump and scream in fright, 'if you cannot control that damned, mangy rat then I'll have it skinned.'

The Lord of Black-Hollow made to stand, looking as if he meant to go ahead with his threat right there at the table. Godric alone mirrored him, Eleanor's petrified expression spurring her brother into drawing his wand. Yet, as Sir Edmund froze at the sight of the drawn wand, the young knight did not point it at his father and his silently cast drying spell struck the damp stain slowly spreading across Eleanor's robes. Another charm later, and the ugly blemish had disappeared entirely. Eleanor shuddered as a wave of warmth soared through her as the spells dried and dispersed the spilled drink. But her fear of her father's wrath overcame whatever the comfort the magic offered, for the little girl did not linger, whimpering as she darted away to escape from the hall, the threatened kitten clutched protectively in her arms.

Sir Edmund paled, his hands gripping the table so tightly that the wood creaked beneath his fingers.

'My friends,' Sir Edmund said curtly, addressing the local noblemen without taking his eyes off Godric, 'the feast is over. I encourage you to return to your own households before night falls and the vagabonds come to stalk our roads. I would have words with my son.'

After witnessing Godric's magic, the noblemen hurried to obey Sir Edmund's command and escape the hail. Only Sir Walter looked hesitant, his cunning mind already constructing ways of using the quarrel between the Lord of Black-Hollow and his heir to his own advantage.

'You too,' Sir Edmund growled at Alain when the Lord of Avalon hesitated. With the local nobles having gone in search of their horses, Sir Edmund was free to voice his displeasure at Alain's company, for he truly loathed the Lord of Avalon and could no longer feign any pleasantness.

Silently, Alain slowly rose from the bench, voicing his intention to leave Black-Hollow and spend the night in the nearby inn where his loyal retinue awaited his return.

'I may be crippled by old wounds,' Alain declared, dropping all pretenses, 'but you ae blinded by hurts which do not exist. Your familial ambitions are from over. Open your eyes and see the son you have, Edmund, rather than continuing to mourn the boy you lost. You will find that he is destined for greatness.'

'OUT!'

The Lord of Avalon was unmoved by Sir Edmund's rage, saddened that the years had only served to blight the Lord of Black-Hollow's mind further. Then Alain glanced at his nephew and, satisfied that his nephew was ready for the inevitable argument to come, he left the hall to find his horse. Salazar made to follow him, although he paused briefly before leaving,

'Will you be alright?' Salazar asked in concern as he eyed Godric's father distastefully.

'Yes,' Godric nodded, smiling in an effort to reassure his friend, 'I will return to the inn tonight, once I have finished here.'

'Alone?' Salazar frowned, thinking of the murderous outlaws who preyed upon those traveling along local roads.

'I'll be fine,' Godric murmured distractedly, his mind on the confrontation to come. Besides, he doubted that Siward would allow him to travel the roads alone at night. Salazar clapped a hand on Godric's shoulder, squeezed once, and then was gone.

Only Siward remained, stubbornly lurking in the shadows and reluctant to abandon the hall.

'Get out!' Sir Edmund barked harshly. He finally looked away from Godric as they heard Siward's heavy footfalls trudge across the hall. The old warrior wouldn't wander far, for he believed it was necessary to remain close at hand in case he needed to intervene if the confrontation descended into physical blows.

For the first time since Sir Edmund had beaten Godric bloody, the two men were alone. The strained silence between the estranged pair returned as Sir Edmund retook his seat at the table. Godric's gaze was transfixed on his father.

'You did magic,' Sir Edmund finally said,

'I'm a wizard,' Godric shrugged nonchalantly,

'You did magic,' Sir Edmund grimaced, 'in my hall…'

'I had not forgotten that this was _your_ hall,' Godric muttered so dryly that Salazar would have been proud. The Lord of Black-Hollow's jaw clenched at his son's disrespectful reply. However, Sir Edmund miraculously managed to keep control of his temper. Instead, he changed tact in an effort to unsettle his wayward son.

'You look like your uncle,' Sir Edmund remarked coolly. Godric frowned in surprise. No one had ever compared Godric to Alain before, not in regards to any physical likeness.

'No one has ever claimed that I was like Alain,' Godric noted, 'not even Morwenna, who sees me as a son.'

'Not the Wizard,' his father quickly clarified, scowling disapprovingly at the mere mention of Alain's name. He appeared to be sickened by Morwenna as well, 'I do not care for that creature your uncle married. It is an ungodly union. But it seems that the blood of my ancestors flows strongest in you, despite the foul wickedness of your mother's family. You look a lot like my brother and even more like my father. Uhtred wasn't much older than you when he was killed at Senlac Hill. I admit I'm surprised that you of all people have grown to look like them. You were always a sickly little runt as a child.'

Sir Edmund still petulantly refused to meet his son's questioning gaze. Only Sir Edmund could make reminiscing about his long dead kinsmen sound like an insulting as if he disapproved of Godric's resemblance to his paternal ancestors.

'I'm proud of it,' Godric said uneasily, unsure of how to react to his father's strange behaviour, regardless of the warm glow which flooded him when someone mentioned the similarities he held with his grandfather.

'At least one of us is,' Edmund murmured bitterly. Godric tried not to reveal how such a little thing could sting him so much, but he was unable to stop himself from flinching slightly. He had long ago caged the ghosts of haunting memories of similar snide remarks. Yet, still, he felt his father's words breached the wall he'd built to imprison them.

'Did I ever tell you how your namesake died?'

'I was told he was killed at Senlac Hill.'

'That's true,' Sir Edmund declared, 'but there is more to the tale. My father was a great man and a feared warrior amongst King Harold's chosen warriors. He'd fought by the Usurper's side for years, battling the Welsh and Danes beneath the banner of Wessex. My father was counted amongst his most loyal friends, even accompanying Harold upon the ill-fated voyage which took him to Normandy. When the call came to muster the spears for war, my father and the men of Black-Hollow were amongst the first to march north to cast the scourge of Hardrada back into the sea.'

Godric frowned, unsure about where his father was taking this tale and the motivation behind it. But he loved hearing stories of heroism and battle, so he remained silent and listened on.

'My father met his end at Senlac Hill. Did you know that it was a wizard who delivered the killing blow? He led his life by the sword and deserved an honourable death. This was not given to him. Siward claims that the men of Black-Hollow held the shield-wall all day as wave after wave of the Old King's army broke against them. Yet, they would not retreat and with your grandfather leading them, our kinsmen refused to give any ground to the invaders.'

'What happened?'

'They were broken, but it took magic to do so. A spell cast by a cowardly wizard struck my father when none dared bring a sword against him. He was the last champion still fighting, so with his fall, the Usurpers shield-wall collapsed. Uhtred fell then, as did most of the men of Black-Hollow and the Usurper died with them.'

'Why are you telling me this?' Godric wondered aloud.

'Do you want to know why I hate magic?' Sir Edmund grunted, 'why I hate Alain? Wasn't he amongst the Old King's host that day? It took everything from me. My father, brother and all the friends of my youth who died with them, killed by men like Alain; cowards who were not brave enough to confront them with swords like honourable warriors should. I almost lost Black-Hollow because of magic. Yet, the devil cursed me with a son who can wield the same evil responsible for your namesake's death.'

'You've let bitterness and hatred consume you,' Godric broke the silence which fell over the hall in the aftermath of the tales conclusion. Alain had told him long ago that he'd fought against Godric's grandfather and the young knight was intelligent enough to understand that in the chaos of battle, you either fight or die. He would never blame Alain for the death of his grandfather, even if the Lord of Avalon had wielded the wand which took his life and broke their shield-wall.

'Your time in Avalon has softened you,' Sir Edmund snorted sourly,

'You have not asked me about my time in Avalon,' Godric countered.

'Believe me, I don't want to know,' Sir Edmund countered dismissively, 'why should I care. It is a placed ruled by a depraved cripple and the beast he has the gall to call a wife. It is a stronghold of evil ways, where wild folk can breed discord. It is a pagan world which revels sin…'

'Avalon is nothing like you say,' Godric scoffed in bafflement at his father's narrowmindedness, 'once I would have believed anything you said, for I would have neither the will nor courage to disagree. But I'm not that boy anymore. I've spent years in a place of warmth, kindness, and love. The Lord and Lady of Avalon have nurtured me, giving me the freedom to realise both my strengths and weaknesses. They love me and I them.'

'They have ruined you,' Sir Edmund ridiculed him, 'wizards know no honour. They make war in the shadows, deceiving them with cunning tricks. For all your talk of battle, I doubt you'd have the courage to change at an enemy with a lance in hand like a true knight. Magic is the weapon of cowards.'

'If I was a coward,' Godric retorted, his defenses battered by Sir Edmund's scathing onslaught, 'would I have had the sense to save Alain's life in the midst of an ambush when my friends were dying around me? Would I have fought a trial by battle against a seasoned killer when the last descendant of Merlin and her hound Belleme tried to bring about my death?'

'Belleme?' Sir Edmund couldn't help exclaiming, recognising the name of one of the realms most notable barons.

'Robert of Belleme,' Godric explained coolly, 'I have powerful enemies and he has never forgiven me for what happened at the King's coronation; the incident you almost killed me for. I have faced enough dangers to be deemed a knight. Are you not proud of me?'

'Proud?' Sir Edmund snorted and finally looking at his son, 'Tell me why I should be when I see nothing to be proud of?'

Godric glared back, frozen at the other end of the table even as his father's words sent his heart reeling.

'I was mistaken,' Godric exhaled, 'I thought that once I'd earned the right to carry a sword, then you may have thought better of me. I was wrong.'

'You _were_ wrong,' Sir Edmund said, you are weak, in both body and spirit. Ever since you crawled from your mother's womb, ruining her and all but killing her. You were weak, to let the devil's curse of sorcery consume you.

'It's not a curse!' Godric growled, wrestling with his own temper, an aspect of his character he realised he'd inherited from the man before him, 'it's been a part of me ever since I was born.'

'You're not like William,' Sir Edmund continued, ignoring him, 'my William was a good boy. He had the strength to deny the devil's curse, rather than let it unman him.'

'You claim that by using magic somehow unmanned myself,' Godric growled, 'yet how long is it since you wielded a sword in battle? When was the last time the King called you to war and you fought for your life against a worthy enemy?'

'Watch your tongue,' Sir Edmund warned him, his temper flaring, 'or I'll beat the evil out of you for good. It already took Alys and your brother from me. I will not let it take root in Black-Hollow again.'

'So you blame for their deaths,' Godric stoically retorted, 'yet, it was your ambitions which drove William to the King's Court and fuelled his reckless pursuit of glory and it was you who struck my mother during the early days of her pregnancy until she was bloody and bruise. Beating wives and servants who fear fighting back may be a balm for your wounded pride, but I do not count it as courage.'

'How dare you?' Sir Edmund snarled viciously, leaping from his seat and making to stride around the table, 'by God, if you disrespect me again then I'll beat you bloody.'

'Like old times?' Godric spat back, refusing to cower as the Lord of Black-Hollow thundered towards him, 'for what reason will you beat me? For being a child abused by violent men? I've waited years to summon up the courage to return to this place and confront you, just so that I can ask why you almost killed me.'

'Insolent whelp,' Sir Edmund roared, his arm raised to strike. However, the blow the never fell, for Godric's hand shot out and grasped Edmund's arm before he could be struck bringing it to a sudden halt. For a heartbeat they froze, Sir Edmund's eyes widening in astonishment as he realised the extent his son's huge strength. The hand which gripped his wrist was unyielding and Sir Edmund visibly flinched, expecting Godric to strike him back.

But the blow never came.

'I will not be bullied,' Godric spat threateningly, the emerald eyes he'd inherited from his mother blazing with righteous fire. Sir Edmund was almost rendered speechless, for Godric had never looked more like his namesake. With the battle-haze threatening to descend, no one could argue that Godric wasn't descended from a line of warriors who could trace their ancestors to the age of heroes. Sir Edmund felt his heart being wrenched apart by bitterness and envy, remembering that his father and brother had possessed the same towering aura. His son now displayed the same, a countenance which had always eluded him. The realisation jarred him.

'You dare…' Sir Edmund stammered, almost choking on his rage.

'I am not my father,' Godric snarled and flung Sir Edmund's arm away which such force that it caused Sir Edmund to stumble into the table. Godric rose to his full height, suddenly looming over his father, 'I will not excuse your violence, not like my mother did. You're the one who is weak, Sir Edmund because you've given your temper free reign. I have the same temper, the same rage. But I do not let it rule me.'

'What is this?'

'I am Godric Gryffindor,' he said proudly, 'and I am a knight of Avalon. I suffer from the same affliction, a rage which has plagued me more than magic ever has. But I do not let it rule me. I've spilled blood and defended my honour. I've fought for my friends, my Lord and myself. If you hit me, _father_ , I will show you what kind of a man I am.'

'You are a slave,' Sir Edmund snapped brusquely, 'that cripple has manipulated you. He has turned you against me and made you betray your own family.'

'Only you can be blamed for that,' Godric snapped, 'Lord Alain is one of the best men I know. I will not allow anyone to insult him, especially you…'

'Traitorous weakling!'

'No,' Godric said, feeling tears gather in his eyes, 'I am neither weak nor a traitor, only a fool; like my mother before me. We were fools because I believed that you were capable of being a better man. I used to dream of being like you; dreamed of carrying a sword and of the day I could wear the rampant lion and follow you into battle. I cannot describe the pride I felt when I finally did so, all because I yearned for your approval…'

Godric suddenly laughed bitterly.

'I finally see that it was all futile, for it will never be forthcoming. I'm actually relieved, for it is not me who has failed you. My time in Avalon as shown you for the impostor you are. If fathers are meant to forge their sons into men, rather than forsaking them when they do not grow to meet your expectations, then Alain is more of a father to me than you will ever be. He was the father I needed, for he encouraged me to thrive. If you can't see it, then you don't deserve me as a son!'

'Nithing!' Sir Edmund finally snarled, his hand twitching with the desire to find a sword to strike down his impertinent son. In the same moment, a loud crackle rebounded throughout the small hall and the great table collapsed, the thick, polished wood suddenly split down its middle. Torches flickered madly on the walls before dimming and casting dark shadows across the hall. Strange, for no breeze, unsettled them. The Lord of Black-Hollow immediately fell still, cowering slightly away from what Godric's magic had accomplished and threatened to do again. But Godric was in control, breathing heavily as he glared at his father.

'I am no nithing,' he said plainly, 'I am Godric Gryffindor. Godric of Avalon and Godric of Black-Hollow, because the place of my birth and the place I was fostered have both influenced who I am. I was born here and I am bonded to this land by blood and I will forever stay loyal to it, my sword willing to defend it…'

'Not whilst I live,' Sir Edmund growled venomously, although he was still unnerved by his son's magic, 'you are no longer my heir. My _only_ son died in a hunting accident. Let God witness…'

'What your God does matters little to me,' Godric responded tiredly. He felt drained by this confrontation and his realisation that he could never amount to anything in his father's eyes had gutted him of his own violent wrath. He strode to his seat and flung his cloak over his shoulders, 'if that is your will, then so be it. I will not return to Black-Hollow, not whilst you live. But listen to this warning. If I ever discover that you have harmed Eleanor or treated her in the same way you did me, then I will return and not all the swords in Christendom will keep you from me.'

Sir Edmund didn't seem to be listening to him. He was far too furious to speak, tears of fury shining in his eyes as his face contorted with loathing for the son who had returned to his hall and threatened him. His face twitched, his vision dizzied and his body felt numb with suppressed rage.

'Nithing,' he finally choked out again, practically spitting through gritted teeth.

'You can have Black-Hollow,' Godric replied coldly, pausing at the hall's door. Godric looked back one last time at the father who had forsaken him. Godric's gaze was almost pitying, 'farewell, Sir Edmund, and may the devil welcome you.'

Then he strode across the threshold and into the night, never intending to return. Sir Edmund was left in the dark and cold hall, alone...


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven: Confrontation

**Confrontation**

The next dawn found the Lord of Avalon walking among the wooden crosses of Black-Hollow's nearby graveyard. His grey cloak was wrapped tightly about him to ward away the morning's icy chill. Black-Hollow's parish church loomed close by. Its Saxon heritage was still evident, although Sir Edmund's generous donations had paid for craftsmen who redesigned the holy site befitting the latest Norman styles. It was an impressive building, although it paled in comparison with the great castles and monasteries of the realm.

Alain prowled the graveyard alone. He had left Salazar to attend to the horses beyond the graveyard's boundaries. Godric had not accompanied them, for he had yet to rise when they had left the roadside inn that morning. Godric had returned to the inn soon after Alain and Salazar, spoke to no one upon his arrival and retired early to their quarters, the brooding expression on his face warning his friends that he did not wish to be disturbed. Alain had adhered to Godric's unspoken wishes, noticing how his nephew's body shook with barely suppressed emotion and rightly suspected that the young man had argued with his father. He guessed that the approval Godric craved from Sir Edmund would be forever found wanting.

The Lord of Avalon sighed, scanning the wooden crosses. His sister was not amongst them, so he wandered towards the heart of the graveyard where a somber mausoleum of pale stone starkly contrasted with its wooden counterparts. Only noblemen could afford the stonemasons needed to house the Lord of Black-Hollow's in stone once death had claimed them. A rampant lion stood resplendent over its threshold. Alain ventured closer and briefly lingered beside two headstones marked with the names of English nobility. Staring at the cold stone, Alain guessed that these graves belonged to Godric's paternal grandfather and uncle and he doubted that the bones of the two warriors lay beneath them. These men had died in the great battle at Senlac Hill, in which Alain had fought on the opposing side. Thousands of men had died that day and the memory of it still haunted Alain.

Alain had fought at the forefront of the Norman host, amongst those mail-clad knights who fearlessly rode up a corpse-strewn hill to the mounds of sword hewn and spell burnt dead at its summit, where he threw himself at the warriors who fought heroically to defend Harold the Usurper. He remembered the screams of the dying and the yells of fighting men and wondered whether it had been him who had killed Godric's forebears in the haze of battle and left their bodies to the crows.

He moved on and soon stumbled upon the grave of little Eleanor's mother. Alain barely remembered Eleanor le Broc, a timid little maid who was a ward of the King and a future tool used to buy the loyalty of a minor English nobleman. No one deserved to die so young, and judging by the smoking candles which surrounded the grave and how it was of any encroaching weeds, someone in Black-Hollow still cherished her memory. Probably a loyal servant, for Alain doubted it was Sir Edmund. Feeling like an intruder, Alain swiftly took his leave and walked on until finally, he reached the one grave he had come to find.

The Lord of Avalon exhaled sharply he stood over his sister's final resting place. It was nothing more than a weather-worn slab, devoid of the warmth which still lingered around Eleanor le Broc's grave. The sight of the cold stone saddened Alain's heart. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the small little girl who had squealed giddily as she shadowed her gangly limbed half-brother around their father's keep. Aly's delighted cries had echoed around the bailey whilst Alain, more than a decade her senior, used his wand to bounce her through the air. He called her "duck" in those years, much to her chagrin, but the reason for the nickname had escaped him after almost four decades.

Then mad Taillefer had come, taking Alain away to mentor him in magic. In his absence, the small little girl had turned into a demure young woman, given in marriage to an English noble by order of the King. It was not a choice her family would have made for her, but the Old King still needed to consolidate his rule over natives of his rebellious kingdom. Edmund, the Lord of Black-Hollow and an outcast amongst Normans and Saxons alike, was chosen to be her husband. Alain had hoped that Edmund would cherish her bright spirit, but the Saxon care more familial honour and ambition than the happiness of his young wife.

Aly's had worn a bright smile on the day she married Edmund, a girl in love with love itself. Tears slid from Alain's eyes, just like they had done on the day of the wedding. The Lord of Avalon had held reservations about the match, but he had kept his counsel. After all, he had only recently returned from his self-imposed exile in the wilds and was still unsure of his place in the Old King's favour. Edmund had also made it abundantly clear that he disliked the wizard and was reluctant to host his wife's brother in his manor. So instead, Alain had held his tongue and bid his beloved sister goodbye, remembering how Aly's eyes were bright and full of life the morning when he had ridden away from Black-Hollow, never to return during her lifetime.

Now, Aly's bones were turning to dust beneath the frost-bitten ground. They had exchanged correspondence in the years before her death, although at the time he had failed to realise that the scarlet splodges which stained the parchment were caused by the abuses Aly's suffered but kept well hidden. However, Alain's keen eyes and Morwenna's wisdom soon began to suspect that Aly's spirit was waning more and more as the years went by. Even the letters which briefly mentioned the children she clearly adored, from the pride she felt for William to her concerns for her youngest son. Alain had always intended on returning to Black-Hollow, but his duties as Lord of Avalon and King's Grand-Sorcerer were many and combined with Edmund's unconcealed distrust of wizards, it led to a distancing which would never be revoked.

The last letter his sister had sent him was kept buried away in his private chest. Alain had sensed that the situation had improved in Black-Hollow and that the onset of Aly's pregnancy had a happiness she'd always deserved. But her delight in a pregnancy which had not yet come to a premature end had warred with her gnawing fears for Godric. Aly's did not mention magic, but she described strange occurrences in such fine detail that there could be little doubt that Alain's nephew had magical blood. He had stayed away, fearing to disturb his sister's newfound joy, even when she had beseeched him to protect Godric from the prejudices which plagued the land. Godric was too young to be mentored in magic and Alain had been willing to wait a few more years before intervening.

The Lord of Avalon had learned of his sister's death from the Old King William, who had heard the news from Alain's nephew William, a youth Alain had been wary of approaching in case he shared his father's sensibilities. When Alain had learned that Aly's had died in childbirth and that Edmund had refused to seek his aid in relieving her pain and saving both Aly's and the unborn baby, the Lord of Avalon's wrath had been so great that Morwenna had ousted him from their bedchamber. His wife had refused to share his bed until his temper had improved, an exile which had lasted weeks. Yet, Alain still delayed his intervention, until the day came when Salazar had burst into his chamber and insisted on the Lord of Avalon following him urgently.

Little did he know that it was a bid to save the life of his own nephew, a timid waif who had been brutally beaten at the hands of his father after the boy had humiliated Belleme. Alain had never forgiven himself for his indecision, despite Morwenna's attempts at assuring him that his fostering of Godric had righted any wrong he'd committed. Nonetheless, the Lord of Avalon still felt that he had failed his sister, a sin he'd added to the long list he had accumulated over the course of his violent life.

'I hope that I have lessened the debt I owe you, little swan,' Alain murmured softly, tears whelming in his eyes. He let them fall and bent down to his fingers over the cold stone. Drawing his wand, Alain silently conjured a small candle, lighting a blue flame which emitted an ethereal glow. The flame was charmed to burn so that even the coldest air and strongest winds would not extinguish it.

Alain was so preoccupied with his memories of a time long since lost that he was unaware of the presence behind him until he heard the sound of sandals scraping against the frost-laden grass. The Lord of Avalon quickly hid his wand beneath his cloak and discovered a weasel-faced man peering at him with beady eyes. Judging by the opportunistic glint which momentarily flashed across his face, the priest rightly assumed that this stranger was highborn.

'I thought I saw someone,' the priest said warmly, 'can I help you, Lord?'

'I'm just passing through,' Alain replied amicably, without warning the priest that he had not wanted to be disturbed. He suspected that the priest would have ignored his request for privacy, for he had scented wealth and was now pursuing a generous donation.

'Visitors tend to come to see our church, not the graves,' the priest continued, 'although strangers are few in these parts, especially with outlaws roaming the roads. This is a humble place of worship, despite Sir Edmund of Black-Hollows patronage. We are always in need of charitable gifts from good, godly men.'

'I'm sure this Sir Edmund provides all he can,'

'So he keeps telling me,' the priest shrugged doubtfully, 'only God can be the judge of that.'

'What is your name?' Alain inquired, instantly disliking the man. It was not the priest's lifestyle which displeased the Lord of Avalon, but because he appeared to have the irritating demeanour of a man who thought life was constantly cheating him. He'd probably received his schooling in a great Christian house and most likely considered a humble backwater like Black-Hollow beneath his status.

'Father Thomas, Lord,'

'You should be proud, Father,' Alain commented mildly, 'I'm sure not many villages like Black-Hollow could boast that they prey in such a fine Church.'

'Then come and look, Lord,' Father Thomas offered, 'it's a few hours before Sext. If you will follow me, then I'll show you the work which has recently been completed, and the new relics we have been fortunate to acquire. The Pope disapproves of such trinkets, but the people remain fond of them. Perhaps you'll be so impressed that you'll see fit…'

'That would please me greatly,' Alain lied, 'but I'd like to spend a moment longer here,'

'Ah,' Father Thomas said, recognising the headstones dedicated to the familial mausoleum, 'I gather you knew the Lady Eleanor? You must have come from the King's Court, where I'm told she spent most of her life as a ward. It is good that the King has not forgotten Sir Edmund in these trying times.'

'I am no stranger to the King's Court,' continued Alain, 'and Lady Eleanor was indeed known to me before her marriage to this Sir Edmund. Admittedly, I did not know her well, but our paths sometimes crossed. Was she as fair as many have told me?'

'Lady Eleanor was a saintly woman, Lord,' Father Thomas reminisced fervently, 'Alas, she was only with us for a year, poor girl. But she was very pious in her worship and a far godlier wife for Sir Edmund than his first.'

'How so?' Alain inquired with feigned curiosity, managing to keep his voice calm despite his desire to curse the man.

'Lady Alys was a difficult woman,' the priest muttered in disapproval, 'and an ungodly sinner. I have never met such a strident woman. It shames me that she is buried in consecrated ground. But Sir Edmund insisted and we are told to be charitable, even to devil-worshippers.'

'You would have barred her from this holy place?' Alain asked quietly, his countenance subdued as guilt and remorse at leaving his sister amongst men like this besieged him. Like some Muggles born with magical kinsmen, Alys had possessed an affinity for magic. Yet, it had never extended to true spell casting and was confined to a skill with the healing arts. She certainly hadn't worshiped the devil.

'If I had the authority, Lord,' Father Thomas continued unwittingly, 'but I'm simply a humble servant of God and Sir Edmund's wealth is vital to our survival. The Lady Alys was a corruptible influence, a seductress of ill-repute. She was a heathen, I'd swear it Lord. It is our duty to make these people embrace God or vanquish them if they persist with 'continuing their evil ways. I fear I failed on both accounts, although this was no fault of my own. In the years before her death, she refused to participate in any of the sermons I delivered. She preferred to wallow in heresy, breeding sin in her manor…'

'That is a bold claim,' Alain said softly, 'especially if it regards the wife of the Lord of Black-Hollow.'

'But it's true,' Father Thomas insisted, 'her sinful ways made her abominable. She loathed me, seeing my holiness and devotion to God as a threat to her wickedness, although her power was not in curses but in motherhood, for she gave life to the evilest of creatures.'

'A grave sin,' Alain ground out. His rising anger went unnoticed by the priest, who appeared relieved to have found an audience willing to listen to his lies without having to fear being reprimanded.

'A devil, Lord,' Father Thomas continued earnestly, 'her second son, whose soul housed an evil spirit. After all, she was a kinswoman of wicked men, so it is unsurprising that dark deeds plagued the boy. In those days, animals sickened, crops failed and the people of Black-Hollow suffered, whilst strange happenings occurred in his presence. Once, he even managed to vanish entirely. Who knows what beastly creature laid with Sir Edmund's wife to sire such an unholy evil?'

'What happened to this woman?'

'She died,' Father Thomas said with an unapologetic smile which hinted at how satisfied he was with his erstwhile enemy's demise, 'in childbirth, trying to bring more evil into our world. God in his wisdom rightly punished her, seeing fit to expel her heresy from this land and throw her soul back into the flames so that she could no longer breed any evil.'

'And the boy?' Alain asked stonily, paling as the priest continued.

'I don't know, Lord,' the priest hissed peevishly, clearly vexed with the mystery surrounding Godric's disappearance, 'it's all a mystery. After his mother's death, I was guided by the Lord's will to expel the daemon within him. No heretic should be allowed to wander unchallenged. God wills it. I tried everything, Lord, from beating the boy to forcing him from Black-Hollow. I once advised that even suggested that death would be a fairer fate for all concerned. Yet, that insufferable steward is a brutish man with misplaced loyalty and Sir Edmund did not heed my warnings. So God punished him for his hesitance. His firstborn son was taken from him, killed in a hunting accident. I suspect that the boy's maliciousness knew no limits evil spirit in its pursuit of power and so used sorcery to murder his brother. I made my disapproval obvious, sensing ruin when the devil's wishes were granted and he replaced his dead brother as the heir of Black-Hollow. Then miraculously, when Sir Edmund returned from King William's coronation, it was with a new bride and devil was not with him.'

'He had disappeared?'

'Without the evil of his mother to sustain him, some think he sickened and died. The boy was always a sickly creature, feasting upon the ill luck of others. There was a rumour that Sir Edmund witnessed the evil he was capable of and tried to rid the world of his existence. Unfortunately, he was stopped and his noble cause was thwarted by a kinsman of his mothers. A wizard, the greatest of sinners. This heathen threatened to curse Sir Edmund if he harmed the boy, before fostering him in his lair, where I fear they remain conjuring mischief together. If this is so, then I fear for us.'

'An enthralling tale,' Alain said coolly, 'not even the most gifted of troubadours could have weaved it.' The Lord of Avalon's amusement was not lost upon Father Thomas, whose amiable countenance instantly gave way to a scowl.

'You did not announce yourself, Lord,' the priest said slowly, 'and you seem very interested in the history of this place for a mere traveler. Who are you? Do you have business in Thanesfell or Black-Hollow?'

'Did I not say?' Alain feigned surprise as a humourless smile tugged at the corner of his lips, 'I'm the Lady Aly's brother.'

For the first time since Father Thomas had stumbled upon the mysterious stranger, the priest felt flustered and unnerved.

'Heathen!' He suddenly cried out, stumbling away from Alain as if the very air they shared would poison him.

'No,' Alain growled, fixing the retreating priest with an icy glare which had made experienced warrior shudder in fear. He drew his wand, but did not use it, for its presence alone unsettled the weasel-faced priest, 'but if you malign my sister again, one of the most graceful and kind women I have had the good fortune to know, then I will introduce you to this devil you fear.'

The priest seemed stricken with fear as he eyed the wand in terror. However, Father Thomas was a great many things, but once he had recovered from his shock, his belief in the power of his God gave him courage. He straightened and summoned his righteous rage, jabbing a finger towards Alain as if it could impale the wizard like a lance.

'Be gone,' he snarled furiously, clutching the cross which hung about his spindly neck, 'devil worshippers are forbidden to desecrate holy ground. Go!'

'Not until after I have finished here,' Alain grunted, gesturing at his sister's grave and refusing to move, 'I wish you no trouble, Priest, despite your foul insults…'

'DESPOILER!' Father Thomas yelled, spitting in a frenzy, 'wizards are the devil's servants. If you dare to use sorcery to curse me then God will protect me…'

'Why would a wizard waste magic on a worm like you?' A newcomer hailed them. Father Thomas whirled around, hoping to find an ally. Instead, he was confronted by two more strangers he did not recognise and who were leading several well-bred horses towards them. One was a lean, raven-haired young man whose emerald cloak and rich garments were the equal to Alain's. The other was a towering figure with flaming red hair and a scarlet cloak which billowed in the wind. This man had spoken and Father Thomas found himself cowering in the face of the man's animosity.

'Father Thomas,' Godric said brusquely, 'do you remember me?'

'No' the priest stuttered, blinking rapidly as his eyes scanned the graveyard in search of an escape. He found none, for a retinue of armoured riders had appeared beyond the boundaries of the graveyard, where they watched on imperiously. They'd ride Father Thomas down long before he reached the sanctuary of the church.

'Come on, father,' Godric said, still walking towards the quailing priest, 'have I grown so unrecognisable?'

'I've never met you before,' Father Thomas stuttered. Godric loomed over him, a hand resting idly upon his sword pommel.

'Then tell me,' Godric stated coolly, 'do you remember a young boy? A young boy who could do strange things. Have you forgotten how you treated him, Father? How you hated and cursed him? Do you remember turning people against him, even his father?'

'No,' Father Thomas gulped, blatantly lying as he refused to look at the tall young man standing before him.

'Why don't you meet my gaze,' Godric murmured softly, 'and tell me that you do not remember threatening the life of a defenceless boy.'

Father Thomas trembled but seemed to have lost his tongue. Godric shook his head,

'You're nothing but a bully,' Godric scoffed, disgusted with the man's cowardice, 'a little man who preys on the weak and grinds people down beneath your feet.'

'God will strike you down…' he tried to utter,

'Not my God, Father,' Godric laughed contemptuously, 'your God has given me little reason to love him, especially if he speaks through men like you!'

Finally, Godric's insult seemed to prise Father Thomas out of his terrified stupor. He stumbled forward, holding out the gleaming cross towards Godric.

'DEVIL!' he snarled, oozing hatred, 'you're a devil, just like your heathen mother. We should have cast you out as a child and let the wolves have you, silencing the evil in your soul forever.'

The hiss of a sword springing free of its constraints silenced him. Godric held the heavy blade steady, its gleaming tip tickling the priest's throat. Father Thomas squeaked, his eyes widening in astonishment at the sudden danger.

'Kneel,' Godric growled humourlessly, 'kneel and count your sins.'

The priest obeyed, collapsing onto the frost-bitten ground, clasping his quivering hands over the small cross at his neck. He was muttering inaudibly, but Godric didn't care whether the vile man was cursing him or praying to his God. Standing over him, it would be easy for Godric to slit his throat and bring this man's hateful life to an end. After all, Godric would be lying if he ever claimed to not have longed for the priest's death. He loathed this man and the temptation to silence the lies he spouted was intoxicating. He could silence the lies and prejudices forever and still sleep easy in his bed, couldn't he?

His hand twitched and the steel licked the priest's ashen skin, drawing a small bead of blood which dribbled beneath Father Thomas's habit. The creature he kept chained deep within him yearned to kill again, unsated with the deaths of those he had killed before. It was for this reason alone that Godric's sword did not strike. He had always been told to follow his heart and do what was right rather than follow the easier road.

'Kill him,' Salazar said mercilessly. Godric could understand why his friend said it. Father Thomas conjured horrifying memories of the same prejudices inflicted upon Salazar and which had led to the young wizard's home being stormed and his family brutally killed. Salazar had always struggled with forgiving those who spread hate and judging by the intensity of his scowl, he looked capable of cursing the priest regardless of what Godric decided. Alain said nothing. He would not interfere if Godric chose to kill the quivering priest. It was impossible to tell if he would approve of Godric choosing to butcher the priest, but he would not intervene. This was Godric's choice to make.

'I don't fear you anymore, Priest,' Godric growled. The sword hovered there for a moment longer, before slowly drifting away. However, the threat of Godric's towering presence Father Thomas with instant retribution if he chose to harangue Godric again, 'and I'm not the same boy you terrorised or the son of the woman you hounded with bitter insults. I go by Gryffindor now and I am a knighted wizard, the wielder of both swords and magic. If you ever cross me again, then I will not be as merciful as I have been today.'

Father Thomas whimpered, pressing his hands to his lips. He'd been clutching the crude cross so tightly that it had pierced the skin of his palms and drawn blood. Disgusted by the sight, Godric spat onto the frost-bitten ground.

'I know good priests,' Godric said curtly, 'and you are not worthy to stand amongst them. You are a worm, Father, so crawl back to the fires from which you slithered.'

Father Thomas tensed, hesitating as he pondered over whether he should disobey Godric. Then he was gone, scrambling unceremoniously to his feet before scurrying towards the sanctuary of the church as if the host of hell itself chased him. Only when he had determined that he was a safe distance away did he spin around to curse and scream at them again. A well-aimed hex which scorched the earth at Father Thomas's feet cut off any poisonous words the priest may have hurled at them, sending him scampering for refuge within his church. He disappeared across the threshold and barred the great doors so that he could keep the wizards at bay.

'It was a mistake to let that man live,' Salazar grunted in dissatisfaction as he shook his head, 'he'll make trouble for you.' Alain nodded, but Godric sensed that his uncle was secretly relieved when Godric chose to be merciful. It was no small thing killing a priest in a Christian land and martyring Father Thomas, despite how deserving it was, would have only encouraged the prejudices and fear many people felt for wizards.

Godric ignored them. He stared down at his mother's grave as if surprised to discover it here after so many years. Slowly, he knelt down and traced a hand over the worn stone. Since her death, two contrasting images of Lady Alys had warred against each other in her youngest son's mind. One was of the shrouded corpse awaiting burial, skin pale and her eyes forever closed. The other was the doting and demure woman who had tried so valiantly to shield him from the evils of the world.

He doubted he would be alive if it was not for his mother's iron will. Obscured by the sorrow she had suffered at his father's hands, Godric didn't believe that many of those who knew her would ever have realised Alys hid this indomitable resolve within her frail body. She believed in him and defended him as ferociously as a lioness when his life was threatened. Godric would always cherish her memory because of it.

He didn't realise he was weeping until his tears began to mark the stone beneath him.

'She didn't deserve this,' he whispered bitterly.

'No woman does,' Alain agreed sadly, resting his hand on his nephew's shoulder and squeezing it comfortingly, 'yet, many suffer similar fates.'

'What fate is it when all the joy of life was beaten from her,' Godric said, 'and all she got was a cold grave in a place she hated? What fate is that?'

'She was not barred from every pleasure in life,' Alain told him sagely, 'she took joy from her children. The Aly's I knew as a girl would never have fallen into despair, not when she had children to protect. She was far too full of life.'

Alain's reassurance offered Godric little comfort, nor did it change the reality that his mother was dead, her bones turning to dust beneath the hallowed earth. The young knight wrapped his cloak tightly around him,

'This is a bitter place,' he muttered grimly.

'We're surrounded by the dead,' the Lord of Avalon chuckled dryly, 'graveyards always are. Between us, I wouldn't wish a Christian grave on anyone. When I meet my end, I want my body placed on a funeral pyre and burned in the old pagan ways. I want my spirit released and allowed to wander free so I can return to Avalon, where I shall be with Morwenna for all eternity. That is my wish.'

'Let's hope it's not for many years,' Godric grimaced.

'Lord Alain?' Salazar interrupted them. Looking up, his companions found the young wizard pointing towards where a rider had appeared on a fidgeting mount. He had been stalled by Hugh, who, after determining that the man meant no threat to Alain, led him along the weaving track. When they drew close, Godric recognised Adam, the guard they'd met at Black-Hollow's gate the previous day. The young retainer seemed nervous being alone with several wizards and the silent Troll-Bane.

'Sir Godric,' he shouted hurriedly as he neared them, 'I come with a message.'

'We are about to leave,' Alain said cordially, suspecting that the missive contained insults sent with vindictive intentions, 'so be quick.'

'You must follow me, Lord,' Adam spluttered, gesturing urgently, 'we must return to Black-Hollow.'

'Sir Edmund has disowned me,' Godric challenged him, frowning at Adam as he ignored the sharp glance his companions shared at the news Godric had not chosen to share with them, 'he made it clear that he had no wish to see me again. Thus, I have sworn not to return. Why should I come with you?'

'I have not been sent by Sir Edmund,' Adam blurted out, looking increasingly uncomfortable with the situation, 'it was Siward who gave the order to find you. He wants you to return with haste, for we have grave news.'

'I have no quarrel with Siward,' Godric said slowly as dread gripped his heart, 'so what does he want with me?'

'It is you father, Lord,' the retainer said, 'he is dead.'


	29. Twenty-Eight: The Lord of Black-Hollow

**The Lord of Black-Hollow**

Sir Edmund died during the night. Following his son's abrupt departure when Godric had stormed away from the manor vowing never to return, the Lord of Black-Hollow did not retreat into the solitude of his bedchamber. He settled in his high seat, wallowing in the foulest mood that had ever consumed him, neither capable of speaking nor sleeping in his fury. The servants went to the strenuous efforts to avoid having to cross his path, seeking beds away from the hall out of fear of disturbing Sir Edmund's wrath.

Adam recounted the tale as Alain's retinue galloped towards Black-Hollow. When the faint light of dawn rose over the manor, only the ever loyal Siward had dared venture into the hall to rouse Sir Edmund. However, the old warrior sensed that all was not well. Sir Edmund was still perched in his seat, his body stiff and his brooding gaze glaring unblinkingly at the threshold Godric had passed when he strode into the night. His unseeing eyes were blind to his steward's presence, for he was dead and his soul had long since fled. The Lord of Black-Hollow's rage had been great and his heart was unable to cope with the strain of it. Moreover, Sir Edmund had no opportunity to legitimise his threat to disown Godric. Thus, his son and heir suddenly discovered that the mantle of governance over the fiefdom of Black-Hollow had been thrust into his unwilling hands.

For Godric Gryffindor was now the Lord of Black-Hollow.

He heard cries alerting the manor's inhabitants that armed men approached. However, the gates groaned open and the Lord of Avalon's retinue burst into the courtyard. Black-Hollow's retainers and servants cowered away from the riders, not daring to approach after the fate Sir Edmund had suffered. Godric ignored them, for Siward waited for him. The old warrior stood outside the hall, unbowed, his white hair plaited and the great Danish axe he'd wielded at Senlac Hill rested in his gnarly hand. Dismounting, Godric cautiously approached the steward, for no smile warmed the man's scowl.

'Swear to me,' Siward growled dangerously, 'that magic had nothing to with this.'

'Siward,' Godric tried to interrupt, but fell silent when the axe twitched in the old warrior's hand,

'Swear that you had no hand in your father's death?'

Godric's expression darkened at the steward's insinuation. It was obvious that Siward suspected that Sir Edmund's blood was on Godric's hand, or he would never have demanded such an oath. Godric's voice did not quiver when he replied.

'I swear on my honour as a knight,' he declared so loudly that it reached the ears of every inhabitant who assembled in the manor's courtyard. Salazar and Hamon's hands fell to their undrawn weapons, ready to spring to Godric's defence if the situation called for it, 'that no magic played a part in my father's death.'

The tense confrontation dragged on and both men remained stubbornly silent. Undetected, the steward had rushed to the hall at the first sound of trouble and had witnessed the quarrel between father and son. The hate and resentment which plagued their relationship were obvious to all, and when Sir Edmund's body had been discovered, Godric was rumoured to be responsible. However, unknown to Godric, Siward's keen eyes were still unsullied by age and he recognised in Godric the pale complexion and unlooked for astonishment which often greeted grave news. Sir Edmund had been the same when Siward, wounded and exhausted, had returned to Black-Hollow with the tragic tale of Senlac Hill.

The old warrior glanced at Alain's waiting retinue, rightly guessing that there were wizards amongst the fearsome band.

'Did they?'

'I was with them all night,' Godric countered honestly, 'and I know them well. None of them would have had a hand in this.'

Siward remained unmoved by the young knight's trust in his friends. No heart was impregnable to betrayal. Besides, the steward had lived his life with the same preconceptions of magic than many Muggles, believing that magic could be used to curse and maim. However, Godric was a son of Black-Hollow and when the young knight bravely put his life in Siward's hands by not going for his sword or wand, Godric passed an unvoiced test. Siward suddenly fell to his knees and bowed his head, offering the great axe for Godric to take. The watching servants and retainers instinctively followed the steward's example.

'Then welcome to your hall,' he declared solemnly, 'Godric Gryffindor, Lord of Black-Hollow.' There was much to be done. A message was sent to Avalon explaining the reasons why their return was delayed and another went to Rufus, informing the King that a loyal vassal was dead. It was accompanied by a sizable pouch of gold taken from Avalon's coffers, which would ensure that Godric retained his inheritance without any interference from the King's treasurers. Meanwhile, the Lord of Avalon chose to stay with his nephew, for there was much to be done in Black-Hollow following Sir Edmund's death.

A vigil was held for Sir Edmund's lifeless body, an experience which proved uncomfortable for Godric, silently honouring the man who had recently disowned him. But out of respect for Muggle customs and regardless of the discord which had plagued his relationship with his father, Godric completed the task admirably. Looking upon his father's corpse, Godric noted that Sir Edmund appeared as aggrieved in death as he had done in life. Two coins had been placed over each eye to hide his haunting gaze, for not even the strongest hands hall were already spreading through Black-Hollow. This was not surprising, considering the unknown manner of Sir Edmund's death.

Godric didn't linger by his father's side, for everything which mattered had already been voiced. Yet, a startled gasp escaped the onlookers when the new Lord of Black-Hollow stood and he discovered that his father's nose had started to bleed. Hushed whispers and fearful glances told Godric that this was an ill omen, even amongst wizards, and many thought that Godric's presence was the cause of it. The weasel-faced priest he had humiliated had no qualms about blaming Godric, but he wisely chose not to publicise his disgruntlement so soon after the young knight had threatened him.

The rest of Godric's time was spent learning his new duties, which included confronting Black-Hollow's neighbouring lords and knights. Sir Edmund had rarely discussed Godric with his peers and regardless of the feast they shared, Godric was still unknown to the opportunistic knights who clamoured at his borders. However, if men like Sir Walter of Thanesfell perceived Godric as weak and tried to claim his land with the sword, then the presence of the King's Grand-Sorcerer and an intimidating mail-clad retinue soon discouraged them.

'Godric of Black-Hollow's lands are now under the protection of Avalon and the King,' Alain warned them openly when the knights of the surrounding lands had assembled in the hall, 'if any of you visit his lands with ill intentions, then you will face the wrath of Avalon.'

The Lord of Avalon's declaration tempered any ambitions Sir Walter and his peers may have had to carve out more land from Godric's inheritance to bolster their own wealth.

Godric made a deliberate effort to meet with all his servants, from reeves and retainers to the lowliest serving girls, talking with them all until he had learned a little of their lives and experiences under his father's lordship. It helped that he could rely upon Alain's experience and Salazar's intelligence, whilst Hamon and other members of Alain's retinue went out amongst the people and appeased them with tales of Godric's trusting and humble nature.

The people of Black-Hollow soon learned that a lord who could wield magic had his uses, for the magic of Godric and his friends helped with tasks which would have taken days to complete and kept the feared and emboldened outlaws at bay. Those who were unconvinced by his promises were persuaded not to stir up trouble when Godric's hand fell to his sword, a trick he'd learned from a rueful Alain, emphasising his willingness to use it if they were foolish enough to pursue a quarrel. They may not have trusted him, but the people of Black-Hollow were content to give him a chance.

Sir Edmund may have once been an accomplished lord, but as his darkening moods spiraled into depression, his broken ambitions began to consume him and his interest in Black-Hollow dwindled. No fairs were held or roads cleared of outlaws, causing the villagers to lose out on much-needed revenues. The people grumbled, but their displeasure went ignored by Sir Edmund, for as long as his rents were collected and food continued to be brought to his table, then he was content to let the people tend to their own needs. But with Godric's coming, the lethargy which had troubled Sir Edmund's last years had ended and Godric was determined to bring a joy back to Black-Hollow which hadn't been seen not seen since his grandfather had ruled the land.

Despite Siward's best efforts to maintain law and order over the land, the number of outlaws prowling the woods and hills had risen rapidly. These vagabonds preyed upon villages like Black-Hollow, robbing unsuspecting travelers and using extortion to force the desperate people to do their bidding. Recently, they had grown so bold that they had ambushed several of Sir Edmund's officials, including the bailiff, and left them dead upon the road to Thanesfell. However, their fortunes soon changed, for any who tried to take advantage of Sir Edmund's death by raiding defenceless homesteads or attacking travelers soon discovered that it was a fatal mistake crossing a new Lord with magic as an ally. The fates of these vagabonds left dangling on the tree branches they'd been hung from, discouraged others of their kind from venturing beyond their moorland hideouts.

Godric was content to trust Siward's judgment when it came to appointing deputies and settling quarrels. The old warrior had served the rampant lion banner for a lifetime and knew the land better than anyone. Most of these issues were solved without any hassle and only one quarrel appeared to cause Siward concern. Predictably, it involved the household retainer Adam, who appeared as adept at finding trouble as he did at shirking his duties. But he did not lack ambition and ever since the last bailiff had been killed by an outlaw's arrow, Adam had no qualms over hinting that he desired the office. However, although the retainer had potential, Siward remained doubtful over his suitability for the task, especially when it concerned his passionate conquest of one of the local girls.

'Bloody idiot,' Siward growled as he stood beside Godric and watched the knight of Avalon assist the local villagers with the rebuilding of a collapsed homestead, 'he doesn't understand the trouble he's caused.'

'I'm surprised you've let it go on for so long?' Godric mused,

'He says he'll marry her if he puts a child in her belly,' Siward grunted sourly, 'and she seems happy enough. God-forbid her brother finds out. If comes to it, then blood will be spilled.'

The steward nodded towards a young man who sat idly away from the workers. He was flanked by two surly looking friends and made no effort to help in the construction. Stripped to the waist and with his own body stained with sweat, Godric scented an air of unearned arrogance about the man.

'They have quarreled before?' Alain asked curiously.

'Not to my knowledge,' Siward replied, 'but her brother Dan Fletcher is a vile little bastard. I'd wager he's one of the bastards who killed your father's men. He's good with a bow and I know for a fact that he's been involved in some unlawful activities.'

'He's an outlaw then?'

'No,' Siward grumbled, 'his father's harbouring the little shit, offering excuses for when he's running amok abroad with his friends. He'll be screaming for blood if he discovers his sister's been rutting with a retainer out of wedlock.'

As if sensing that he was being spoken of, Fletcher turned to regard the three men. He offered no sign of respect, content to simply watch them with an unimpressed gaze and with the sardonic smile of a man who clearly believed that he was above the law of the land.

Godric made Adam a reeve, more for his own protection than out of any merit he'd achieved, trusting Siward to guide the young retainer until he became accustomed to his responsibilities. Meanwhile, Godric rode to Black-Hollow and publically promised that when he next returned from serving the Lord of Avalon, then the outlaws who plagued them would be scoured from the hills for good.

The young Lord of Black-Hollow had made sure he locked eyes with Fletcher as he said it. His hand had been resting on his sword pommel, his unvoiced clear. From that day hence, if a man broke the law in Black-Hollow, then he would suffer the consequences and none of the moors which surrounded the manor would ensure they escaped justice.

Yet, it would have to wait, for Godric had no time to battle outlaws that spring. He may have been the Lord of Black-Hollow, but he was still oath-sworn to serve Avalon and the day soon came when Alain could no longer delay his return to the Isle of Apples. Godric struggled to hide his relief. He was both exhausted and frustrated by his new duties and his frayed patience with his friends relentless mocking of his new title was close to snapping. He longed to be back on the road, where his only concern was serving Alain and defending his uncle from danger.

Sir Edmund was buried in Black-Hollow's small mausoleum, where he would rest beside his two wives and ancestors for the rest of time. Once the dead knight was confined to the earth, Sir Walter and his fellow knights dispersed, heading back to their holdings where they could brood over their squandered ambitions. Godric trusted none of them, but he was unconcerned about any threat they pose. Nonetheless, Alain had established ward-stones along Black-Hollow's boundaries and enchanted them to protect Godric's people if any wizard meant them harm.

However, another problem materialised soon after they had returned from the church and Tilda came to Godric with the news that her ward was missing. The nursemaid was close to sobbing by the time she'd summoned the courage to approach Godric, expecting to be beaten for her carelessness. But Godric merely calmed her and reassured her that he'd conduct the search himself. It did not take him long to locate his half-sister.

He found her unharmed in the small meadow where his mother had once sought solitude and sanctuary from his father. It remained a beautiful place, maintaining a tranquillity which belied the untamed nature of the rugged landscape which surrounded it. Eleanor was sat beside a majestic oak, her face downcast as she stroked the feline companion she carried everywhere. The beast purred gently, rubbing its head against Eleanor's fingers as it lazily watched Godric approach. Eleanor must have realised it was him, for she gave no inkling that his appearance surprised her. She remained silent as he settled down at her side and began to pick at the daisies which grew around them.

'My mother used to like it here,' Godric sighed with a fond smile. He could hear the sound of sparring men beyond the meadow, but it was dulled by the shrouding foliage above them, 'she came here to rest and gather her thoughts. This was her fiefdom, a place she could rule without interference. She used to sit me on her knee and tell me stories about knights who fought monsters and rescued maidens.'

'My mama died,' Eleanor mumbled timidly, 'I don't remember her.'

'My mother also died when I was young,' Godric told her quietly, 'do you know that I saw your mother once?'

'Really?'

'Yes,' Godric nodded, 'it was a brief glimpse, for I had only just been fostered in my uncle's household and our father was returning here. I remember her being very beautiful.'

'Do you know anything else?' Eleanor inquired beseechingly, looking up at her brother and hoping for more snippets of her mother's life, 'did she like cats? I like cats; I hope she did too.'

'I don't know,' Godric admitted sadly and Eleanor deflated as her sudden excitement was extinguished. She sighed, her downcast countenance returning. Godric pitied the young girl, for although his memories of his own mother were tinged with recurring tragedy, at least he had the opportunity to spend time with her. Eleanor never had and it dawned on him that his sister yearned to feel a connection to a parental figure who would forever remain a ghost to her.

'Papa's sleeping now, isn't he?' she whispered softly, 'like my mama.'

'He is,' Godric answered cautiously, unsure of the relationship Eleanor had shared with their father and was reluctant to blemish the memories she may have cherished of Sir Edmund.

'And he won't wake up, will he?'

'No.'

'What will happen to me now?'

'Nothing will change,' Godric reassured her, 'you're my sister. No ill will ever befall you whilst I am the Lord of Black-Hollow. You are the daughter of a proud family, Eleanor. I intend to provide you with every chance of happiness and love you deserve.'

'Do you promise?'

'I swear it.' Eleanor leaned her small head on Godric's shoulder and wrapped her hands around his arm.

'I like having a brother,' she told him firmly, 'will you stay here forever?'

Godric's heart twisted. He felt a natural impulse to protect her and wondered if his own brother William had felt a similar sensation when he shielded a scared little boy from his father's wrath.

'I can't,' Godric told her quietly, 'I am sworn to Lord Alain and have promised to sense him until he releases me from my oath. Siward will stay here to run the manor in my absence.'

'I like Siwy,' she murmured, before looking up at him with wide eyes, 'you won't forget about me will you?'

'Of course not,' he smiled, poking her side playfully until she giggled and battered away his hand, 'how could I forget about a little elf like you?'

'I _am_ a noble lady,' she protested insistently, wriggling out of his grasp whilst trying to look dignified, 'noble ladies don't get tickled!'

'Of course,' Godric chuckled and dipped into a flamboyant bow, 'will you accept this humble knight's apology, Lady Eleanor?'

'I will think about it,' she muttered haughtily, deliberating the matter. Then she suddenly darted forward and quickly kissed his cheek. She giggled at his stunned expression, before skipping back towards the manor, her kitten mewling in her arms.

Godric remained seated in the meadow's undergrowth as his sister hurried away. From where he was sitting, Godric could see the small, barren tiltyard where his father's retainers honed their skills. Hugh Troll-Bane was bellowing orders at the men being drilled. Avalon's castellan had been appalled at the inherent laziness of Black-Hollow's household soldiers in and had set about to rectify the matter. Several weeks of daily beatings in the tiltyard had followed and even as Godric watched on, he heard Adam complain about a particularly difficult drill. He was subsequently paired with Bayard for sparring practice for his efforts, who grinned fiendishly as he approached with a menacing looking stave.

Godric stared at the tiltyard and sighed, for this was where his adventure with magic had begun.

'That was well done,' Siward smiled, disturbing the meadows tranquil peace as he emerged from his hiding place behind a tree.

'Thank you,' Godric replied distractedly, still staring out over the tiltyard where his dreams of becoming a knight were born. Siward groaned as he settled beside the younger man, the first time the old warrior had outwardly shown Godric that his advancing years were aggravating stiff bones and old scars.

'Doesn't seem like ten years does it?'

'No,' Godric replied noncommittedly. He wasn't fond of his memories of that day.

'Godric,' the old warrior sighed, 'I will make no excuses for your father. Nor will it excuse the wrongs he committed. He was a hard man during your lifetime. But he was not always so. You might not believe me, but he was once a loyal and honest boy. He changed a lot as his life went on, just like you have. It's hard to imagine that the sickly child I once knew is now the man before me, who looks so much like his namesake that the blood they share can no longer be denied. Lord Godric was the best man I've ever known, a great lord of a heroic bloodline. Leading men came naturally to him; it was why I followed him to battle both the Northmen and Norman invaders.'

'But Edmund differed from his father. I remember him as a boy, Lord Godric's second son with an easy confidence and have the burden of leadership thrust upon his shoulders. Such responsibilities did not come easily to him and the years following Senlac Hill saw chaos and upheaval that you could scarcely imagine. Your father was no great warrior, but he was not lacking in ambition, especially when it came to the survival of your family name. Edmund was forced to bend his knee to a Norman king in order to consolidate his hold on your ancestral lands. When so many others of English blood were displaced or killed, Edmund survived only to be rewarded with loathing by his native people and distrust from his peers amongst the Normans. When the King seemingly forgot about Black-Hollow, his moods darkened and the bitterness threatened to consume him. He may have treated many people poorly, but I don't want you thinking he was an evil man.'

'You might be right,' Godric pondered, although a scowl adorned his features, 'it is unwise to speak ill of the dead. My…Sir Edmund had his flaws. We all do and one day I may be able to forgive him for all the wrongs he did to those I love. But I won't be today; it won't be for many days.'

'You may look like your grandfather reborn,' Siward said, watching the young man fondly, 'and if your friends are to be believed, then your martial prowess matches theirs. Yet, when you speak, I see your mother in you. Lady Aly's would be proud of you.'

'Will you be fine in my absence?' Godric asked, finally turning away from the tiltyard. Siward laughed,

'Who do you think ran this manor whilst your father was consumed by drink and grief?' Siward countered in amusement, 'you will have nothing to fear here. I will not let Black-Hollow go to ruin.'

'What if the villagers are unwilling to have a wizard as the Lord of Black-Hollow?' Godric asked, ignoring the shiver which ran down his spine at the steward's kind words. He redirected the conversation elsewhere, for he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the feelings manifesting in his heart, 'they have tried to force me away from this place before.'

'I'll handle the villagers. They trust me and my reputation as a former warrior is still respected in these parts. I will also keep our local priest quiet. That self-serving little prick has always feared me. I half suspect that's why he hasn't removed your mother's body from consecrated ground like he has threatened to do before…'

Godric grimaced. Since he spared the priest's life, Godric had decided to let Father Thomas remain at Black-Hollow. This was despite the protests of many men, Salazar prevalent amongst them, who thought he was mad to do so. Godric's friends were convinced that the miserable worm would do all in his power to undermine Godric's influence, out of revenge for the humiliation the young knight had caused him and some misguided hatred of the unattainable power the wizard wielded. Some thought he would try to acquire the support of his ecclesiastical superiors, but Godric had the support of the Lord of Avalon and backing from Rufus, whose word was the law in this realm. There was little Father Thomas could do but shout, rage and preach bigotry. His fear of Godric's magic would be enough to keep him from causing any real trouble.

'If he dared,' Godric scowled darkly, 'I'd kill him.'

'Now you sound like your grandfather,' Siward said with a booming laugh, 'he would have gutted our Father Thomas long before now. But death would be too good for that little bastard. Why let him meet God when he can still wallow in shit and mud like the rest of us. Besides, if he causes any more trouble, you can just use your spells to turn him into the vermin he is. If that bloody mangy beast of your sisters finds him then all the better.'

'I think that would be an abuse of my powers,' Godric chuckled. Alain would surely think so, and would never condone such a ruthless act.

'Who cares,' Siward shrugged ignorantly, 'you're a wizard. Don't your lot wander about fighting monsters and doing what they want?'

'Even wizards have their limits, Siwy,' Godric retorted cheekily, 'we're not gods.'

'You should tell your friend Slytherin that, for he certainly acts like he thinks it,' the steward chuckled as both men rose to their feet, 'it is comforting to hear. It means you won't escape a beating if you call me Siwy again.'

'You can try,' Godric laughed cheekily,

'I will succeed,' Siward grunted, although a smile softened his attempt at a scowl, 'I understand why you have to leave, just make sure you return soon. Bring that sword with you, for the neighbouring knights have always wanted your father's land. They may come to take more, even with the Lord of Avalon's magic protecting this land and I would appreciate an opportunity to see if you are a match for Lord Godric in battle.'

Finally, the day came when the knights of Avalon departed from Black-Hollow. It was a sad parting, for Alain's retinue were well liked and only the household retainers appeared relieved to see them leave, their bruised and aching bodies evidence of the punishing regime implemented in the tiltyard under the unforgiving gaze of Hugh Troll-bane. Eleanor was especially loathed to see them go and she raced after their horses until the little girl was forced to skid to a halt at the palisade's gate, waving farewell with the dolls Godric had conjured as a gift still clutched in her hand.

Their return to Avalon was an uneventful experience, for neither harsh weather nor any vengeful enemies hindered their progress. Moreover, there was no concern which would trigger a rush home and no creature of ill omen lurked in Avalon's marshes to blight their journey. As a result, Alain's retinue rode at a steady pace, leaving laughter and gaiety in their wake.

No one foresaw the wicked news which awaited them on their return to the white castle. Emerging from the shadows of the gateway, they were greeted in the bailey by Morwenna and one glimpse at her distressed disposition and grave expression filled the retinue with trepidation.

'Alain,' she exclaimed as her husband dismounted and enveloped her in his arms, tears falling from her violet eyes and her anxiety for the well-being of her loved ones began to overwhelm her natural serenity. The retinue fell into a grim silence, 'dire news has reached us.'

'What is it, my love?' Alain replied in concern, fearing to hear what disaster had befallen his household. Every member of the retinue edged closer, their jovial mood souring as they listened intently to what the Lady of Avalon said. Godric exchanged looks with his sworn brothers as his hand sought the comfort of his sword, already suspecting what was to come.

'War,' Morwenna murmured tremulously, gazing into her lover's eyes in dread, 'the valleys of Wales are in flames and Lord Gofanon calls for aid. War has come to Britain.'

* * *

Four more chapters up and i hope you enjoyed them. I've actually finished writing all the remaining chapters, but the editing process is taking ages so I thought i'd post a few chapters seeing as i haven't uploaded anything for so long. I'm editing as quickly as i can so i will have the next chapters up soon.


	30. Twenty-Nine: The Muster

**The Muster**

The world is cursed by war. It is a dreaded plague; a pestilence which fed on the fall of heroes and the suffering of the innocent. When the winds of winter, in those blessed days when the year's first lambs are born and common folk prepare their fields for the springs sowing. War comes to bring chaos and that spring, blood and fire came to Wales.

Roving bands of wild wizards and mercenaries descended upon the kingdoms of South Wales and threw the land into anarchy. Settlements were laid waste, their people slaughtered or displaced by swords and spells. These villains revelled in the barbarity, running amok and pillaging as they went, offering little mercy to those who resisted them. Chaos ruled in Wales and the hills were ablaze as dark magic despoiled the land. With the valleys rife with rumours and the innocent prayed to be left unscathed, Gofanon the Wise called for aid.

The Welshman's call to arms was not in writing but arrived orally via a scroll that once opened, announced its message in Gofanon's own voice. The wise wizard's anger with the wrongs being done to his people was obvious. His spies had revealed that wizards accompanied the warbands raiding deep into Wales, whilst the unruly Welsh princes were doing nothing but contributing to Gofanon's frustrations, for they were already marshalling their kinsmen to oppose the raiders. Gofanon, despite the high acclaim he merited amongst wizards and Muggles alike, was struggling to appease their thirst for revenge with promises that the might of magical Britain would ensure that their dead would be avenged with the blood of their enemies.

There would be no peace. Gofanon had once been a fighting man, a veteran of Clontarf and countless more battles, and his own blood burned with the desire to retaliate. He called for his allies to stand by the oaths they had sworn at Lughnasadh and ride to his aid. An oath was an oath and the Lord of Avalon, despite longing for peace, had no choice but to honour it. Alain was the most capable war leader amongst those who had sworn the oath and the responsibility of leading them into the wilderness to fight against the raiders would fall to him.

With a heavy heart, Alain sent out his own call to arms, rallying his allies to Avalon's banner. Those who were bound by the oath sworn on Ynys Mon would muster at the Isle of Apples, before crossing the Severn. There they would meet Gofanon, who was already assembling his kinsmen at his own hall, where he waited impatiently for the moment to retaliate. As he did, wizards from across England, Scotland, Normandy and Brittany were travelling along well-trodden roads to Avalon's marshes.

In the meantime, Alain prepared for war and his fiefdom sang with the hammers of craftsmen, the grooming of warhorses and the gathering of supplies. His retinue trained vigorously until their instincts were sharpened so finely that even Hugh was forced to begrudgingly admit that there was little more that he could drill them in. It was in those weeks that Godric received the first warhorse of his life, a fine beast bred from Gervais esteemed herd. He called it Llamrai, after the legendary steed which had borne Arthur in all his battles. Salazar mocked his friend's romanticism, whilst Hamon cursed his misfortune at not thinking of the name sooner.

In the evenings when Avalon's knights rested from their tireless preparations, the Lord of Avalon spent many hours in his hall dwelling on who could have orchestrated the attack. Surrounded by his loyal followers, there was only one name on everyone's lips.

'Bellême,' Godric said aloud and his companion's murmured their agreement.

'It's not Bellême,' Alain replied tiredly,

'How can you be sure?' Tancred asked curiously. Many of them looked sceptical. Bellême's flare for warfare had forged him into an indispensable weapon to a dynasty of kings and nobles. His reputation as a soldier was as famous as his penchant for unrestrained brutality, from pillaging holy places to burning unsuspecting strongholds, leaving a bloodied trail of broken lives in his wake. This only added to his infamy and there were few wizards more feared than Sir Robert of Bellême.

'It is not him,' Alain said again, 'because Bellême has been given leave to return to his Norman holdings, where he is to aid Curthose in putting down another revolt. The King sent me word this morning'.

'What about the knights Rufus promised?' Salazar asked sourly.

The retinue exchanged glances when Alain did not answer. The Lord of Avalon had briefed the King regarding the attacks in Wales. Unfortunately, Rufus had his own ambitions that spring and they did not involve the Welsh. When the winter snow had melted, Rufus rushed north to Cumbria in an effort to swiftly conclude his dispute with the Scots, which would free him to turn his ambitions on his brother's duchy. The King's irritation with Alain's absence from his armies was obvious. After all, what were the lives of a few Welsh peasants to a King's dynastic ambitions? Royal displeasure was evident in Rufus's curt response, sent with a herald who came to Avalon with no sign of the knights the King had promised when they had last met in the autumn. When the Lord of Avalon voiced his suspicions of Bellême's involvement, the King informed Alain that the infamous Bellême was in Normandy, currently besieging the rebellious castle at Breval.

'But if it's not Bellême,' Gilbert pondered aloud, 'then who else could unleash such anarchy?'

'Mercenaries,' Bayard grunted sourly. The old warrior had spent half his life as a mercenary, fighting in campaigns across Christendom. He knew better than anyone the ambitions and capabilities of men who fought for coin rather than honour.

'Or an ambitious Marcher Lord?' Gervais suggested,

'The witch,' quiet Isolde spoke up, 'the fair witch with the black heart.'

'Melusine,' Salazar added for the benefit of his ignorant comrades, 'I thought no one had heard of her since Lughnasadh?'

'Precisely,' Alain continued darkly, fidgeting with his beard as he pondered their dilemma. They knew nothing of the games Melusine played, other than being certain that her inscrutable nature would not hesitate to sacrifice a thousand innocent lives if it would guarantee that her ambitions were ahcieved. There could be little doubt of this.

The fog-strewn day finally came when the call of the ferryman resounded throughout the gleaming keep, signalling that Alain's call to arms had been answered and their allies were mustering. Alain rode out immediately, going to meet his guests with only Hugh to accompany him as a standard bearer. The two men would guide them through the blinding mists to the Lord of Avalon's hidden domain.

Godric was left to oversee the morning's drills, a task he took to with gusto. Now the Lord of Black-Hollow, Godric spent most of his time pouring over the reports regarding the manor's revenues which Siward sent him almost every day. The old warrior had spent decades aiding Godric's family and Godric trusted Siward's wisdom when it came to dealing with forgers, thieves and those not paying their due. Often enclosed within the reports were Siward's observations of Black-Hollow's neighbours. Sir Walter and the other minor barons who shared Godric's borders eyed Black-Hollow with greedy eyes following Sir Edmund's death, hoping to prosper at Godric's expense.

Fortunately, Siward revealed that Alain's recent presence in Black-Hollow appeared to have momentarily curbed any ambitions the local knights may have had. Only a fool would risk the wrath of the King's Grand-Sorcerer, especially when Sir Edmund's heir had been fostered in his magical household. Yet, Godric found it a tedious affair and Godric was duty bound by his new responsibilities, although Alain and Lambert were always willing to lend an experienced hand to help. Being far too noble to unleash his frustrations by taking a servant girl to his bed like most young knights his age, Godric's release came on the tiltyard. After many groans and grumbling complaints, Alain's retinue soon discovered that Godric was just as formidable a drillmaster than his troll-slaying mentor.

The usual gaggle of maids shirked their duties to watch on, drawn to the tiltyard at the prospect of seeing Godric spar topless in order to not stain his tunic with sweat and dirt, a decision mirrored by many in the retinue. He had just succeeded in disarming Bayard and sending the cursing warrior sprawling, a feat of arms he very rarely achieved when their bout was interrupted by the stretched horn call which announced the Lord of Avalon's return. The retinue immediately abandoned the tiltyard, streaming across the bailey just as Alain rode through the gate at the head of over a score of riders. Gathering in the bailey, they saw Morwenna leading the household out of the keep, ordering Lambert and her servants to see to their guest's needs as she strode demurely to meet them.

Godric recognised the Breton's Lancel the Valiant and his sister Isobel the Enchantress, although their former master Viviana of Brittany was notably absent. France was a pale shadow of the former glory it had relished during the years of Charlemagne. It was now a kingdom divided by quarrelling lords and unscrupulous wizards, where its king cowered in his castles and had little power beyond Ile-de-France. Viviana was needed in her homeland, her magic deterring the Count of Brittany's rivals from raiding his lands. She sent her two former apprentices in her place, with seven battle-hardened retainers to support them.

Dewa Swift-wand had also come. Famous for being an adventurer obsessed with earning a reputation for his heroic exploits, he was a formidable wizard. Over a half-dozen of his friends accompanied him, all big men who were spoiling for a chance to win renown. They were the only Englishmen who had answered the call. A few minor Norman wizards had braved the journey and many others were simply young thrill-seekers, who numbered fewer than a dozen and had no great names amongst these hired wands. Godric heard some men mutter that their usefulness would have to be proved on the battlefield. There were only a few Muggles in the company, Alain's own tenants who had heeded his call and kept to themselves. Others were marked by their absence. Peredur Peverall had chosen to stay away and safeguard his own interests, whilst nothing had been heard of the sullen Oswin Longbottom. However, they had received that Amalric Black was on his way and the noble wizard had sent a message ahead that he would be in Avalon by the day's end.

The last wizard through Avalon's gates was Aidan Scatter-Brain. The Scottish mage looked more tattered than ever, having travelled along many roads from the hills and glens to join the muster in time. He brought four companions with him. One old, balding warrior, two serving women Godric instantly recognised from Ynys Mon and his daughter Rowena, who's unlooked for presence a jolt of euphoric surprise through the young knight.

Salazar was less moved, rolling his eyes when he saw the witch.

'Only Scatter-Brain would bring the women of his household to war,' he muttered to Godric, who thought that Salazar was very fortunate that Isolde was not within hearing distance. He didn't bother replying, for his attention was transfixed on Rowena. She had not seen him, for her eyes were filled with wonder as she passed through the shadow of the main gate and beheld the gleaming white-stoned keep in all its majesty. Godric saw the same look mirrored in all who came to Avalon, was it was an easy thing to recognise when he had experienced the same sensation when he had first stepped upon the Isle of Apples.

After looking around in utter fascination, Rowena finally turned away from the tall towers and her dark gaze found him in the crowd. Hoping that neither his heart nor his eyes were deceiving him, to Godric it seemed like her smile beamed even brighter than the otherworldly glow of Avalon's castle when it basked in sunlight.

Hamon bounded over to Salazar, grinning broadly,

'Isn't that…?'

'Yes,' Salazar smirked knowingly, still shaking his head at Aidan's foolishness. Judging by how many of the riders distanced themselves from the Scottish wizard, his disapproval was shared.

'What brings Rowena here?' Hamon asked curiously. At that moment, a startled Rowena gasped aloud and blushed furiously as she became very aware of Godric's lack of clothing. She wasn't the only witch who noticed him, for the Enchantress and the serving maid Fiona were also scrutinising the young knight with an appraising eye.

'I can guess,' Salazar chuckled at Rowena's behaviour, before falling silent when a smiling Morwenna stepped forward and gestured welcomingly.

'Friends,' Morwenna called out serenely, 'welcome to Avalon. It is a great honour that you have answered my husband's call. Please understand that what is ours is yours and you will find rest for your well-travelled bodies in this magical land. Now, bring your possessions into the hall and our servants will take them to your sleeping quarters. You will find enough food and drink here to quench your appetites.'

She conjured a brilliant smile to conclude her warm welcome and win the hearts of their guests, a skill Godric apportioned to her fae heritage. From that moment and regardless of the perverse rumours which had hounded the tales told the Lord of Avalon's marriage, Godric knew that Alain's allies had fallen for Morwenna's enchanting charm.

Weaving through her companions as they dismounted from weary horses and headed for Avalon's great hall, Rowena urged her horse towards where Godric and his friends stood. Godric almost laughed when he saw how she struggled with the animal and guessed that Rowena was no natural horsewoman, unsurprising for a pureblood witch. Her father's servants followed her and Godric recognised both the frivolous Fiona and the austere Kenna, whose brow was furrowed in disapproval as she approached the young knight.

'Greetings,' Rowena smiled when she finally reached them. Hamon grinned back, bowed flamboyantly and then took her horse's reins, allowing Godric to take Rowena's hand and help her to dismount. Oblivious to her saddle sore, Rowena's smile widened at the gesture, whilst Kenna's lips thinned further when she saw how the young witch's hand lingered on Godric's arm for a moment longer what was required in the nurse's conventional eyes.

'I didn't think your father would let you come,' Godric admitted, unable to hide his grin. A warm, pleasurable sensation spread from the spot where her fingers still rested upon his arm.

'I gave him no choice,' Rowena winked mischievously, 'especially when I learned that he was heading to Avalon.'

'Godric,' Morwenna's called, interrupting them. They turned to find the Lady of Avalon approaching, smiling warmly as she came to sate her curiosity over the identity of the girl who had managed to claim Godric's undivided attention since the moment she'd arrived, 'who is this young maiden?'

'Lady,' Rowena stuttered with a flush as she curtsied, 'my name is Rowena Ravenclaw.'

'There is no need to bow,' Morwenna commented in amusement, 'I am no queen.'

'Yes, Lady,' Rowena nodded shyly, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. When she rose, Godric noticed how Rowena's hands hastily brushed at the creases in her simple dress as if she could hide the marks of a long journey. He glanced at Morwenna and discovered that she had a mischievous smile of her own, something he had long ago learned to be wary of.

'Can I ask what brings such a charming young woman to my island?'

The glance Rowena sent Godric when unnoticed by everyone except Morwenna, before she looked away and gestured at the majestic white keep.

'What witch or wizard would turn away from the opportunity to come to Avalon, Lady?' Rowena answered, 'it's a sacred place to our people.'

'Very few,' the Lady of Avalon agreed, stepping forward quickly to wrap her arms around Rowena's own, 'I see that you have a perceptive mind, young one. Will you accompany me to the hall? It is furnished with lustrous tapestries that tell a whole manner of tales I think would greatly interest you.'

Without another word, Morwenna began to lead a gaping Rowena away towards the hall, the young maiden's servants hurrying in their wake. However, before they reached the keep Morwenna paused to order the youngest knights to see the horses stabled and to make themselves more presentable before returning to the great hall. Godric hurried to obey, pointedly ignoring Morwenna's knowing smile when their eyes briefly met.

Completing their allotted tasks, the three young men ran to their chambers to clean the sweat and dust from their bodies. Rushing instead of bathing properly, Godric filled his tub with a distracted flick of his wand. Avoiding the minor flooding this caused, Godric quickly stripped and dunked his body beneath the water, immediately regretting not warming the freezing water. He scrubbed his body vigorously to dispel the worst of the grime and then emerged shivering. He threw on the cleanest robe he owned, buckled his scabbarded sword to his belt and flung on a ruffled scarlet cloak, pinning it in place with the shining silver brooch Rowena had gifted to him.

Salazar was resting in his own tub, painstakingly oiling his dark hair as steam rose around him when suddenly the tranquil peace was broken by Godric. The red-haired knight burst into his friend's chamber and tripped over Salazar's neatly piled clothing, shattering the relaxing mood.

'Merlin's beard Godric!'

'Sorry,' spluttered Godric as he strode towards the nearest mirror.

'Really?' Salazar asked sceptically, 'because it doesn't sound like you mean it…wait a moment _…are you using my mirrors_?'

Salazar was rendered speechless, looking momentarily scandalised before laughing disbelievingly. Seeing Godric, the least fastidious man Salazar knew, scrutinising his appearance in one of his infamous mirrors was an incredulous sight to behold.

'Shut up,' Godric murmured, before looking at Salazar sheepishly, 'do I look alright?'

'You look like a swine herder,' Salazar snorted sagely, 'and an ugly one too. But that's an improvement for you.'

'Bastard,' Godric irritably snapped back, picking up a stray vial which housed a shining blue liquid, 'what's this?'

'Scented perfumes,' Salazar replied absentmindedly, 'with extracts of…'

Godric prised the vial open and splashed a generous amount over his tunic.

'Hey!' Salazar exclaimed, summoning the vial to him with wandless magic before Godric could waste anymore, 'do you know how much silver this costs? Or how pungent the scent is for that matter? You only need the smallest amount or the smell will be overpowering… _bloody hell._ '

Salazar's face contorted as he gasped when the fragrance momentarily overwhelmed his senses.

'Is it bad?' Godric asked anxiously,

'No,' Salazar lied unconvincingly,

'Shit,' Godric cursed, 'how do I get rid of it?'

'Other than burning those clothes?' Salazar said dubiously, 'you can't, you bloody dolt. Now bugger off. Remember, just because you look like a swineherd doesn't mean you have to act like one. I hope Rowena appreciates the effort…' Godric left, Salazar's laughter echoed off the walls and followed Godric all the way to the great hall.

Godric felt the nauseating waves of self-consciousness surge through his body as he entered the hall and discovered that he was the first of Alain's knights to reach it. Godric spoke through actions rather than words, as his friends were often considered to be the most sociable of the three. But Salazar wouldn't venture from his chamber until his pristine robes had passed a vigorous inspection and Hamon was most likely sinking a pot of ale in the guardroom rather than appropriately preparing to welcome their guests.

However, Godric had little time to consider his predicament. He was almost immediately accosted by Aidan Scatter-Brain. The Scot embraced Godric, several amulets including a severed hare's foot, pressing uncomfortably against the younger man's ribs. Aidan appeared so eager to speak with him that he didn't even notice the overpowering scent of the perfume Godric had doused himself with.

'Just the man I wished to see,' the Scot greeted him an enthusiastic grin. Godric knew that Aidan was lying, for Alain was currently conversing with Lancel and Isobel and so had no time to speak with Scatter-Brain.

'It's good to see you, Lord,' Godric replied politely, I wish we could meet under better circumstances.'

'War is a bad business, Godric, a very bad business. It's good to have wizards with us who have already experienced battle in our ranks. We can help temper all you hot-headed youths when you rush into the fight and try to win renown. We'll soon see these wretches off.'

'I'm no longer an apprentice, Lord,' Godric revealed, 'all of Lord Alain's squires were knighted during the winter festivities.'

Aidan congratulated the young man heartily, but he did not seem surprised by the news. 'I'd heard of it,' the Scot smiled, 'for a bard told me that he'd witnessed Ollivander the Wandmaker telling the tale in a London tavern, although I must admit I thought it was just the rogue spreading more of his outlandish rumours.'

'It's true, Lord,' Godric said,

'Marvellous,' Aidan inquired, 'do you have land to go with it?'

'I'm a knight of Avalon,' Godric declared proudly, suspecting that Aidan was attempting to discover the extent of Godric's personal wealth, 'and oath-sworn to serve Lord Alain. I have recently inherited the lordship of Black-Hollow from my father, who died earlier this spring.'

'Black-Hollow?' Aidan frowned, his initial enthusiasm fading. He offered no commiserations over Sir Edmund's death, 'I have never heard of the place.'

'It's a Muggle manor, Lord,' Godric clarified, 'a small hall where I was born.'

'Oh, then it is of no concern,' Aidan sighed sadly, 'wizards have no need of Muggle lands. Only a magical title will suffice and you should seek out what land you can. I'm sure this Black-Hollow will amount to nothing more than a barn overlooking a few dung-strewn homesteads. Surely the heir to Avalon has a vast hoard of wealth to call upon, so what use will Black-Hollow be to our kind?'

'Not all of us value riches with the same importance you do, Lord Aidan,' Morwenna intervened eloquently, leaving Godric to ponder whether the Lady of Avalon had sensed the young knights increasing irritation with Aidan's contemptuous dismissal of his Muggle lands. Rowena was with her, for they had been talking together since reaching the great hall. Godric blushed furiously when he saw their noses twitch at the sudden assault of overpowering perfume which besieged their senses. To Godric's relief, they managed to hastily subdue their amusement and didn't embarrass him further.

'Lady Morwenna,' Aidan smiled as he bowed to her and tried to play the courtier despite his outlandish appearance, 'it is an honour to finally meet you in person. I'm glad to find that all those silly rumours about you were completely unfounded.'

'I've always found it prudent to ignore such rumours,' Morwenna smiled back, a lesson she had long ago imparted upon her husband's erstwhile squires. However, Godric was mortified that Aidan would mention the hurtful tales which dogged the Lord of Avalon's marriage. Rowena looked ready to throttle her father for his stupidity.

'But even you must admit, Lady Morwenna, that it is an easy thing to say that gold has little worth when you have an abundance of wealth to call upon?'

'Alain has little personal wealth outside of Avalon,' Morwenna corrected the Scot, refusing to be insulted, 'and the magic of this island does not adhere to blood-inheritance. A wizard must pass the trials if they are to become Lord of Avalon.'

'Nevertheless,' Aidan shrugged, apparently unfazed by Morwenna's revelation that blood-status had no influence over Avalon's fabled magic, 'I'm sure your boys can expect to inherit some of the treasure we all know is hoarded within these walls, and their wives as well.'

Scatter-Brain laid a hand upon his daughter's shoulder and what he implied was so unsubtle that it caused Rowena to flush in chagrin at her father's unseemly behaviour.

'That will not be for a very long time,' Godric grunted, exasperated with the Scot.

'If the Great Mother wills it,' Morwenna acknowledged softly. She stared at Rowena closely, who shifted awkwardly at the Lady of Avalon's piercing scrutiny but had the nerve to resist looking away. A trace of a smile flicked at the corner of Morwenna's mouth, the maiden's steadfastness impressing her.

'Godric,' Morwenna said, 'this young maiden has just informed me that she would love to see all the magic and beauty Avalon has to offer. If you will allow it, Aidan, then I'm sure this young knight would be willing to guide her.'

'It will be an honour, Lady,' Godric replied, exchanging a thrilled glance with Rowena. Godric peeked worriedly at her father, as if he feared the Scot would suspect his pleasure and deny them the opportunity to talk. Yet, he had no need to be distressed, for only Morwenna and Kenna, who hovered nearby, appeared to notice the exchange.

'Knight?' Rowena exclaimed, staring at Godric with wide eyes as Aidan loudly declared that he had no objections.

'Oh, did you not know?' said Morwenna, her knowing smile widening, 'we are in the presence of an illustrious knight of Avalon. Godric was blessed by the Great Mother and knighted by Alain in this very hall. People call him Godric Gryffindor now.'

'A noble name,' Rowena commented lightly as her father once again clapped him heartily on the back, 'I am pleased for you.'

'I still question whether it was deserved,' Godric revealed humbly, all too conscious of his young age.

'It is,' Rowena blurted out, bestowing a shy smile on her friend, who flushed at her praise.

'Who could doubt it,' Aidan cried, 'after seeing you cut off that brute Killer-Bjorn's head, I'd say it was a rich reward for such a deed.'

'Our friends are right, Godric,' Morwenna added with a please smile, 'not many men could claim to have deserved knighthood at your age, but you have displayed all the virtues of a fae-knight since you were fostered here. Why don't you tell Rowena about the dubbing ceremony whilst you show her Avalon's splendour. Come, Lord Aidan, your daughter is in safe hands. Let your servants see to your belongings and you may speak to my husband. With the war coming, we have much to discuss.'

Godric breathed a sigh of relief as Morwenna dragged Aidan towards where Alain stood, although the young knight was sure he saw Morwenna wink coyly in his direction. Distracting Fiona and Kenna with their duties helping the bald warrior to carry their possessions to their sleeping quarters was the act of a woman who had finally guessed who the object of Godric's attractions was. Or maybe she had already coaxed the truth from his friends and was now enacting a plan months in the making. It wouldn't surprise Godric if this was true, for the Lady of Avalon could be very cunning when she wished to be.

He may have been knighted, but still, Godric hastened to obey the Lady of Avalon's command and he was soon giving Rowena a tour of the keep in all its splendour. Rowena marvelled at the castle, for there were few strongholds in all the world which could rival Avalon, especially in the hills of her homeland. She enjoyed scrutinising the rich tapestries which furnished Avalon's halls in great detail, admiring their depictions of ancient heroes and epic quests.

'I understand it now,' Rowena smirked at him,

'See what?' Godric said dumbly,

'Why you are who you are,' Rowena said, gesturing at the tapestries, 'with all these tales of valour and martial prowess, I'm surprised you learned about anything other than the ways of the warrior living here.'

Leaving the great hall, Rowena insisted on hearing the tale of Godric's knighting. Godric recounted everything he could remember of being blessed by the Great Mother and the lavish dubbing ceremony which had followed it.

'I'm not a devout follower of the Great Mother,' Rowena admitted, 'and the mysteries her follower's practice are lost upon me. But I confess that I am curious about this Goddess. They say that it was the Great Mother who gave magic as a gift to her people. She was once worshipped by many, even in the lands far beyond our seas.'

'Morwenna said the same,' Godric noted, 'and this Goddess played an important part in the ceremonies. The Fae-Whisperer and her priestesses were amongst those who delivered the blessing.'

'It must have been a great celebration?'

'It was,' he agreed, offering her a sheepish smile. He could barely remember the night he had been granted his knighthood, but their antics had been the talk of the keep for many weeks afterward. The newly dubbed knights had drunk excessively and participated in scandalous games until all their senses were dulled. Godric had woken up naked in the tiltyard, to the delight of the servants who found him, whilst Salazar spent the majority of the next day spilling his guts into the privy. Hamon, who it was rightly assumed was the instigator of the mayhem, had been discovered mid-triste with one of the Fae-Whisperers priestesses, which led the young knight to sensibly cower in hiding amongst Avalon's glades, seeking refuge from the Fae-Whisperer's wrath until she and her coterie had left the island.

Sensing his embarrassment, Rowena skillfully diverted the conversation away from the mischief they had caused and as they were drawn towards the warmth of Magge's heaving kitchens in search of a bite to eat, she reminded Godric of their first adventure together.

'Just like old times,' Rowena mused playfully. Godric shook his head ruefully, remembering how a mischievous young maid had persuaded him to raid the King's kitchens, where they were almost caught thieving. He certainly blamed Rowena for the whole venture, to which she immediately proclaimed her innocence. Yet, as they were bustled out of the busy kitchens by a flustered Magge, Godric saw his companion inconspicuously use wandless magic to summon a small apple into her hand. She met his amused gaze with an impish smile and winked, taking a hefty bite from the succulent fruit and murmured in satisfaction at the taste.

They next explored the bailey, where Rowena delighted in Avalon's hawks, hounds, and horses, laughing in joy when the dogs bounced excitedly around her, licking her stroking hands and barking madly. Rowena took even more pleasure in Avalon's prized hawks, the animals she favoured most and Godric soon learned that she was envious of their ability to fly so majestically. She also professed that the steeds Gervais had painstakingly reared were some of the mightiest she had ever seen.

'I usually can't abide riding,' Rowena admitted as she ran her hand over a piebald's glorious coat,

'I could tell,' Godric jested and was swatted on the arm for his troubles, although he was generally surprised, for he adored horsemanship.

'I'm a witch,' she shrugged, 'and magical folk have far more comfortable and less wearisome ways to travel.' Godric laughed at her, once again reminded of her arrival where she had shown that she was no natural horse rider. Her awkward manner of sitting in the saddle was similar to Salazar who had always struggled with horses despite his noble upbringing. Godric didn't comment on it and they left the beasts so he could show Rowena the tiltyard and the guardroom. They didn't linger in the latter, for a mortified Godric hastily ushered a giggling Rowena away from the jeering and good-natured jibes which met their entrance.

It didn't take them long to reach Yusuf's tower. Godric had saved this particular treat until last, knowing that Rowena held the pursuit of knowledge in great esteem. As usual, the scholar was bent over a workbench littered with scrolls and ink. Yet, he was so engrossed in his work that his quill didn't cease its incessant scratching even when Godric and Rowena slipped past the stone kelpie to enter the scholar's domain. Godric heard his companion splutter in amazement,

'All the worlds' knowledge,' she gasped breathlessly, her eyes wide and glistening as she looked upon the tall rows of stacked shelves with glee, 'and every word written on magic must be housed here.' Rowena was glowing in pleasure, a feeling so infectious that it brought a wide smile to Godric's lips.

'I swear on my magic, Godric,' the scholar murmured impatiently, jolting Godric from his smug satisfaction, 'that if you have chosen to disturb me with more of your ridiculous and inconsequential questions, then I'll transform you into a heap of dung and let the peasants use you for their crops.'

'Sorry Yusuf,' Godric grinned, knowing that the cantankerous scholar would never do such thing, or so he hoped, 'but my friend wished to see your library.'

This provoked another gasp from Rowena.

' _The_ Yusuf of Cordoba?' she exclaimed giddily. Rowena looked as if she was about to burst with unrestrained delight, 'the scholar who has travelled the world further than any other wizard? Who was the first to translate Circe's infamous oration on transfiguration? Oh, I can't tell you what it means to me. After reading about your travels, I have been filled with a burning wanderlust…'

Yusuf was stunned by the maiden's reaction, pausing long enough to lift his eyes away from his parchments. Rowena's gaze flickered between the chuckling Godric and an incredulous Yusuf, 'Truly?'

'Who is your friend, Godric?'

'Rowena Ravenclaw, Lord,' she answered for him.

'I am no Lord,' Yusuf replied modestly, 'if I was I would have had far too many responsibilities to spend my time travelling. It feels strange meeting someone who readily professes to have read my works. It took Godric several years to finish, and I still don't believe he read it properly. Well, Rowena Ravenclaw, I must say your mind intrigues me. Come, if you are familiar with my own chronicles then perhaps you may be of use to me…'

'Yes, Lord,' Rowena said, eagerly slipping past a bemused Godric, who nevertheless followed behind her. When he arrived, Yusuf was already explaining his current project to an attentive Rowena,

'This scroll talks of a spell which is able to drive away some of the darkest and foulest creatures ever spawned in the dark recesses of our world. I've seen variations of this magic during my time in far off lands. Whilst I was journeying through the provinces of China, I once saw a wizard produce a light so blinding and pure that none could endure looking upon it when it routed the minions of the dark arts.'

Rowena bit her lip, looking thoughtful. It was a habit Godric recognised as a sign that she was deep in thought.

'It sounds like the spell used by Andros the Invincible,' the witch pondered out loud,

'The same thought crossed my mind,' Yusuf nodded in agreement, 'but the actual spell he mastered is lost to us. Other works suggest that the mages of Rome knew of it and translated the spell from its original Greek into Latin. However, after the Roman's abandoned western Christendom to marauding tribes of barbarians, it was one of the many of the spells that were lost to us. All those great spells, both great and evil, gone. If it survived destruction or fell into the hands of some barbarian shaman, then I have neither seen it nor have I heard of it from others. I've come to believe that no one has heard of it since the days of Merlin, although it may have survived in Byzantines chronicles, who are notorious for guarding the secrets of their magic jealously.'

'What of the the Order of Merlin,' Rowena asked, 'surely they may know something?'

'It wouldn't surprise me,' Yusuf snorted distastefully, 'that rabble of miscreants and glory-hunters seekers are as fond of hoarding secrets as the Byzantines, to the detriment of the rest of us.'

'But they _do_ protect us from dark magic,' Godric defended them,

'Pah,' Yusuf laughed disdainfully, 'what dark magic is that, other than the forest dwelling hedge-wizards and shapeshifters who follow the teachings of Hilda? I'm sure they're hiding a wealth of knowledge and secrets in their strongholds, work whose riches far surpass any royal coffer in Christendom.'

'Knowledge is the greatest treasure a man can possess,' Rowena murmured sagely, 'my mother used to say that.'

'A wise woman,' Yusuf smiled, 'and no truer words have been said in this tower. I can't tell you how refreshing it is to have someone in this castle who understands the value of my art and the importance of exercising the mind purely to expand their knowledge. Most of Lord Alain's household do not realise its potential, for many strongholds and cities have fallen when magic has been allied to knowledge. Alas, they are content to waste it, harnessing its power simply so that they can hit someone over the head a little harder!'

Yusuf's stern gaze turned to Godric, who flushed when Rowena giggled at him.

'Tell me,' Yusuf asked Rowena, 'have you read Ptomely? Or perhaps Hecate and Virgil?'

'I'm afraid I have only read a few chronicles from beyond these islands,' Rowena admitted shyly, 'my readings have been limited more native wizards. My family is not wealthy and can rarely afford the annals of the Old World.'

'Mm,' Yusuf muttered quietly, stroking his thin beard, 'I have always considered the nature of British scholarship rather primitive, although some are not without merit. I'm impressed that your reading has extended to Merlin. He may be revered but his annals are some of the most challenging passages written on the dark arts. I'd have thought Merlin's deliberation far too difficult for a maiden your age to understand. Godric has never attempted it, and Salazar has only just begun to delve into its secrets. Have you also read Mebd?'

'I have,' Rowena said blushing at the scholar's praise.

'What did you make of it?' he tested her,

'I found her especially fascinating,' Rowena replied instinctively, 'but I disagreed with some of her darker theories on the nature of magic. I think it is because Mebd sought to master the dark arts for her own ambitions and love of battle, a bias which undermines her work. Merlin did so to understand them so that he could use the knowledge against a greater evil. Ultimately, whilst I may be naïve when it comes to the dark arts, I believe that Merlin had the greater grasp of it…'

'Extraordinary,' the scholar exclaimed his eyes shining, 'you must have a very bright mind.'

'She's the brightest witch I know,' Godric interjected, smiling at Rowena,

'Is that so?' Yusuf said thoughtfully, 'may I ask what works you favour?'

'I found Columba's annals fascinating,' Rowena said, before hesitating and flushing slightly, 'and I adore Falco Aesalon's theories on transfiguration more than any other.'

'Mm, it is interesting that you should favour Aesalon's works. I have all twelve volumes of his histories here. An undoubtedly talented wizard, albeit arrogant at times. It certainly grows tiresome when reading about his own exploits.'

'Oh, but you are so mistaken,' Rowena gasped incredulously 'I may have only read several volumes, but do you not feel that his passion seeps from the very words he dictated. There are few wizards who had greater minds than Falco.'

'You passion is obvious,' Yusuf acknowledged sceptically, 'but by your own admission, you have read little from the pantheon of our greatest sorcerers. We must rectify this. I cannot allow your promise to go to waste. I'd be interested to see if you hold Falco in such high esteem after reading Hecate or even Otto of Boulogne. Are you here for the muster?'

'Yes, Lord,' Rowena replied, 'but my father has decreed that I will not go to war. I am to stay in Avalon until the fighting is done.' Godric thought that she sounded rather disappointed. In contrast, Yusuf was jubilant.

'Good,' Yusuf said, looking more excited than Godric had seen him in years, 'let fools like Godric ride off and wallop people with sticks and swords. Some of us have more important duties and your mind is too precious to be wasted on war. If you have a spare moment, why don't you come to the tower and explore my collection and test yourself against the greatest minds in wizarding history. Would you like that?'

Rowena looked at her surroundings wistfully, her longing to explore the dusty environment and colourful scrolls which filled the shelves glaringly evident. Nothing would thwart her desire to mine this treasure trove further.

'With all my heart,' she confessed.

'Then it is settled,'' Yusuf said, clapping his hands together gleefully, humming contently as he settled back down at his bench and returned to his scrolls, 'we will speak again at the feast tonight. Until then, I'll leave you in Godric's hands.'

'I think Yusuf is besotted with you,' Godric smirked as they crossed the bailey on their way to explore the beautiful glades and gardens which lay beyond Avalon's walls. Rowena slapped his arm good-humouredly,

'I admire him,' said Rowena, 'just think of what that man has experienced; the wonders that he has seen and the great mages he must have met. I envy him. I would love to travel the world and experience the magical cultures which inhabit distant realms.'

'You are spirited enough to do so,' Godric commented astutely. Rowena scoffed at him,

'You sound like Helga,' she replied,

'Well,' Godric shrugged, 'Helga often see things that others miss.'

'And she knows it,' Rowena sighed ruefully, 'Helga can be…very proud.'

'You make her sound like Salazar,'

'They're very similar,' Rowena explained with a small laugh, 'it's probably why they argue so much. Helga, for all her gifts, has no sense of caution. She's reckless and can be insufferably arrogant at times, especially when it comes to her family's bloodline. I fear that it will one day be her downfall.'

'Why?'

'She doesn't fear men,' Rowena said sadly, 'not like I do!'

'All men?' Godric asked softly,

'Not all,' Rowena admitted ruefully, a fond smile briefly flashing across her lips as she glanced his way, 'but Helga has yet to realise that women are merely pawns to the needs and ambitions of men. She cannot rely on her great-grandfather forever and her brother lives in distant lands. I've heard my father say that Lord Gofanon is ailing again. One day, he won't be there to shield Helga from danger and I fear that impulsive tongue of hers will get her into trouble.'

'That's what we're here for,' Godric said, 'as her friends, it is our duty to be there if such hard times come.'

Rowena smiled again and this time it lingered there until they reached the garden where the nine maidens rested. A serene silence reigned and Godric was content to watch Rowena slip off her delicate boots and began dancing slowly, twirling around the small trails of light which broke through the foliage above them. She started to sing as she danced, weaving her way through the rays of sunlight until she reached the water's edge. Rowena dipped one foot into the sacred pool and closed her eyes as the cool water sent shivers coursing through her body.

'What song are you singing?' Godric asked curiously,

'An old song my mother taught me when I was a little girl,' she replied, her eyes still shut as she soaked in the tranquil atmosphere, 'it's a song from my homeland and tells the tale of two young lovers and how their love survived despite fate conspiring to keep them apart.'

'How does it end?'

'Like all songs about love,' Rowena said softly, 'with tears and death.'

'Will you teach it to me?' Godric blurted out suddenly, feeling a sudden urge to learn as much about her heritage as he could.

'One day maybe,' Rowena sighed, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear. With a deep, shuddering breath, Rowena finally opened her eyes and looked at their tranquil surroundings, 'it is beautiful here.'

'It is,' Godric agreed. He had always found this place beautiful, the embodiment of Avalon's otherworldly nature, from its serene stone guardians and trickling waters to the ethereal glow and the flutter of fairy wings above their heads.

'If you could only understand how jealous I am of you!'

Rowena wasn't facing him. If she had, she would have seen how startled Godric was by the sudden change in her demeanour.

'Rowena?' he finally managed to splutter as he recovered from his surprise and frowned in confusion,

'Do you know how fortunate you are?' Rowena asked him curtly, 'To have the opportunity to call upon so many experienced wizards to tutor you? Great lords to help shape your magic and all whilst you dwell in a place like this. A haven so safe that you can expand your talents without fear of attack or the threat of being sold off to the highest bidder.'

'What's going on Rowena?' Godric asked slowly,

'I knew you wouldn't understand,' she said with a dejected smile, walking further away from him, 'don't you see? I have no master because I am too poor to be apprenticed to any worthwhile wizard or witch. Unlike you, who has languished in Avalon with great wizards, noble knights and fair ladies, I have had to rely on my father's teachings…my _foolish,_ selfish father!'

Rowena shook her head venomously as she continued ranting,

'My father! He is an accomplished wizard, but I am not ignorant when it comes to his true nature. I know him better than anyone and I'm aware of how others see him. As a mentor, he leaves a lot to be desired. Whilst my peers have all this in abundance, I have had to rely upon my own mind.'

'Do you envy me?' Godric blurted out dumbly, still trying to comprehend the bitterness which radiated from his unexpectedly aggrieved companion.

'Can you comprehend what it is like to be so penniless that it takes months of scraping together silver so that I can beg my father to buy the paltriest of scrolls, all so I can learn the simplest of spells? Did you know my father had to sell the last of my mother's ancestral lands so that he could buy my wand? That he has become indebted to the goblins so he could afford to rent the horses to bring us here? All because he doesn't want other wizards to think less of him.'

'Yet, here you stand, _Godric Gryffindor_ ,' Rowena growled in frustration, 'a knighted wizard at your age and wielding a wand fashioned by the great Ollivander family. You live with magic and benefit from the wisdom of the greatest hoard of knowledge our world possess. You are treated like a prince by people who beam with pride when they look at you…'

Godric felt the first flare of anger stir within him as Rowena bitter accusations continued to wash over him.

'Why are you being so scornful?' he demanded, hurt warring with irritation and bemusement in his heart. His voice certainly sounded harsher than he had intended, 'I am no god, Rowena, and I do not have the power to decide the fates of others.'

'Are you not?' Rowena laughed lightly, 'that is not how people talk of Godric of Avalon. They speak about you as they once did about the heroes of old. Another Andros, or Achilles, or even Merlin reborn. You are a fae-knight with a burgeoning reputation, a man born into a world ruled by men. Of course you have the power to do as you will!'

'Bloody Merlin, Rowena,' Godric growled, summoning his own anger and using as a shield against her rising contempt, 'where has this come from?'

'Since Lughnasadh' Rowena snapped, still unable to meet his beseeching gaze, 'it has plagued me since we were on Ynys Mon. Ever since I reunited with Helga and befriended you and Salazar, it dawned upon me that I would never have the same opportunities afforded all of you. No famous great-grandfather for protection, nor a powerful guardian to mentor me. Even buffoons like Edwin the Firebrand can benefit from the wizards in his King's court. Who do I have? A fool who continues to squander all he has ever owned, including all his wealth and honour.'

Rowena practically spat those last furious words, expelling from her heart a vehemence which shocked Godric. Whilst he knew Rowena was a passionate and spirited young woman, Godric would never have thought she possessed such fury for her father.

'Truly, a raven is the perfect badge for me,' she choked wretchedly, 'for I am cursed to be carrion forever, poaching for the scraps left by others.'

'What?' Godric sputtered in disbelief, hating the timidity which besieged her, 'Rowena, why don't you believe me when I say that you are one of the most brilliant people I know. What have you to be jealous of? Why are you envious of a man who has barely escaped childhood; who has only survived the trials of his life due to the help of greater men and women? How great must your mind be to have nothing and still stand before me as the woman you are, a witch who has the drive to preserve and become so bright with so little help? You have learned all you know with nothing but your own desire and resolve. Forget ravens and crows, if anything you are an eagle.'

'No!' she retorted harshly, finally meeting his gaze and unleashing the frustration and righteous anger which had remained caged deep within her heart for many years. Her passion was so wild and unchecked that the air about her crackled with magic and a bolt of light shot from her wand, burning a ragged scorch mark into the ground. Birds fluttered to life, disturbed by the invasive noise and fearing predators, whilst one unfortunate sprite was jolted from its slumber and fell from its perch in a tree. It cursed loudly but didn't venture closer through fear of the witch whose wrath had so suddenly shattered tranquillity of the ancient abode. It unnerved Godric, for the atmosphere in which the nine maiden's pool had never felt so cool and even Rowena appeared shaken by her momentary lapse in control.

'This is your fault,' Rowena sighed wearily, 'I was fine before Lughnasadh. I was content to play the dutiful daughter to my father's ambitions…'

'I don't believe you,' Godric argued, 'would you really have been happy?'

'I _would_ have been content,' Rowena reiterated skilfully, parrying his question aside, 'but then you came along, a ghost from my past grown into a young man. A catalyst for the hopes and ambitions which I thought I had buried long ago. You march into people's lives and behave like no wizard I've ever known. You speak with honesty instead of riddles, you loathe greed and you don't seek to mask the truth with lies and deceit. You walked into my life and didn't see me as a helpless little girl or a prize to be won. Nor do you see me as a means to acquire an ancient title or a pretty wife for your hearth. Instead, you insist that I am bright, spirited and tell me that I can be more than I ever dreamed of being. Yet, no matter how long I spend pondering it, I still cannot see how it would benefit you to say these things to me. You make me believe that I can control my fate and that I can hope to live my life in the way I choose…'

'Hope?' Godric replied. He half expected Rowena to roll her eyes in exasperation at sluggish wits. He could picture Salazar doing the same if his friend was there, before calling him a blundering dolt for his stupidity. However, Rowena seemed to deflate as she sighed tiredly as if she had exhausted herself by expelling her mounting frustrations.

'I think I _hate_ my father,' Rowena announced desolately with downcast eyes. Even though she faced away from him, Godric could see the effect this admission had on her, 'I hate what his foolishness has done to my family. What it reduced my mother too!'

'You never mention her?'

'Are you so open when it comes to your own parents!' she challenged, glaring at him before her sudden irritation subsided as quickly as it had flared and was replaced by despondency, 'my mother…'

'You don't have to tell me…' Godric tried to interject, but Rowena pointedly ignored him.

'My mother,' she said again, 'was born into the Ravenclaw clan, the same as I. The Ravenclaw name is both pure and ancient, passed down from mother to daughter for half a millennia. We are a noble family and I can trace our bloodline back to the days of Merlin. My mother was a brilliant witch. It was she who taught me my languages and the songs I sing. But she died when I was a child and what I know of her comes mostly from what Kenna and our old clansman Duncan, have told me. I can sometimes remember her, in dreams and faded memories. She was a witch worthy of every tradition each generation of the Ravenclaw's inherits. This included the one which caused her death.'

'What do you mean?' Godric asked softly, an uneasy feeling creeping into his heart as Rowena began to pale.

'Lailoken's curse,' she whispered, 'my mother was killed by Lailoken's curse, a mysterious affliction which ensures that all Ravenclaw's die young. It is a tradition as potent as the prophecies and madness which have plagued the blood of the Ravenclaw's since its founder learned magic at Merlin's knee. One day, my mother was healthy and delighting in her pursuit of the limits beyond our knowledge of magic. The the next day she sickened, wasting away for weeks until she breathed her last in the scarce comfort of my father's arms.'

'After she died, my father ruined us,' Rowena continued bitterly, 'after all, my father is famous for his foolishness. In life, my mother's good sense tempered his recklessness. But Kenna has told me of how his folly chained her. They loved each other dearly, but their marriage clipped my mother's wings when instead he should have helped her soar. Once she was gone, father squandered the wealth of our clan, a small fortune amassed over many centuries, forgetting about me until he had rendered us penniless. I then became a means to an end, a bride-cow to be used as a means to rebuild his wealth.'

Godric watched on without interrupting, sensing that the frustrations she was venting had remained unspoken for most of her life. Truly, fate had been cruel to Rowena. It had been cruel to all of them. But whilst Godric, Salazar, and Helga had found other guardians they could trust to mentor them, Rowena had been lumbered with a man who did not appreciate her talents and saw her as nothing more than a bargaining piece.

'Can I do it?' she suddenly asked, in a tentative voice so void of Rowena's usually fiery spirit that Godric felt his heart wrench with the need to go to her.

'Do what?'

'Can I be more than I am?' Rowena replied beseechingly, 'Merlin Godric, there is more to this world than these mist and rain plagued islands. More to magic than what has already been recorded by ancient and long dead wizards. It's a dream I yearn for; to explore magic in all its majesty and to unlock all its tantalising mysteries. I want to exceed the limits beyond anything that wizards have previously wielded. I want to…I want to escape!'

Observing his companion closely, Godric couldn't help but feel that amongst all the bitterness which had been fuelled by years of unvoiced anger, was a young woman who hated the ill-will she felt for those who were constraining her dreams and who feared that their fears would overwhelm her. Rowena's resentment was justified and her ambitions were not dissimilar to Salazar's or Hamon's or even his own. Godric suspected that Rowena's spirit and will to accomplish her ambitions burned far fiercer than theirs. The only difference was that Rowena was born a woman and whilst the history of magic was littered with great witches, from Hekate and Sappho to Morgana and Hilda, Rowena was still born into a world where all the advantages in life were held by men.

To Godric, there was no chain strong enough to hold Rowena back. She was an extraordinary witch and in Rowena, Yusuf had found the perfect pupil. Naturally inquisitive and intuitive, Rowena was the rarest of mages, a witch willing to learn simply for the joy of it, judging even the smallest, most irreverent details as worthy of knowing.

'That's quite an ambition,' Godric said,

'Do you doubt I can do it?'

'If it was anyone but you saying this,' he replied softly, 'then yes. But when you speak like this, I believe it. It will be hard and if old tales and legends have told me anything, I think it must be a trial you do alone. However, like all the heroes the bard's sing about, your friends will be there to aid you. _I_ swear that I will do all in my power to help you realise it!'

Rowena stared at him defiantly, her face refusing to soften as he spoke.

'All in your power?' Rowena said, 'I think not. As you said, this is something I must realise alone. I don't want to be known as the daughter of a fool or a bearer of Lailoken's curse. I don't want to be known as the wife of this man or the friend of this great wizard. I am Rowena Ravenclaw, no one else. I want to be remembered for my own achievements rather than being a single side note in the lives of others. I fear the fate my mother suffered; the fate which has befallen so many women before me, but I will not suffer it.'

'I didn't know your mother,' Godric said, bravely taking her hand. He didn't notice how she trembled at his touch as his thumb gently stroked their entwined fingers in a soothing motion or how it sent shivers coursing down Rowena's spine. His smile was gentle and his voice radiated with such honest certainty that it stilled any argument Rowena thought to muster, 'but I know Rowena Ravenclaw. I am proud I do. The Rowena I know is one of the most spirited people I have ever met. I do not think she will succeed alone. No one can. Even Merlin had friends and pupils who assisted him on his adventures. When she finds a man who loves her, she'll be too wise to choose poorly. He'll be a man worthy of a great witch, an equal rather than oppressor, for will not lock her in a cage. He will help her soar.'

Rowena watched him for a long time, her face expressionless. However, she did not remove her hand from his grasp. Godric began to realise how closely they were stood to each other and looking into the deep vastness of his companion's alluring eyes, he saw that they now shone with a hope that had not been there before, like a fiery pyre burning on a moonless night.

'How will I know him?'

Her face was tilted slightly, her teeth nipping at her lips.

'When the time comes,' he somehow whispered back, 'you will know.'

For a heartbeat, her face betrayed the nerves which threatened to undo her as indecision warred with longing. Then her enrapturing dark eyes hardened as she resolved to listen with her heart. Rowena lifted herself on her toes, tilting her head further as her eyes fluttered close. With his heart thundering Godric momentarily froze with a fear similar to that which gripped him during his first battle and which now exposed the vulnerability which threatened to consume him again. His stomach twisted painfully, the young wizard teetering on the edge of cowardice and humiliation.

Then suddenly his courage returned, propelling him to seize the moment and rashly ignore what his good senses were struggling to tell him. Instead, he cast off the caution which burdened him and listened to his heart, reaching out to run his hand through Rowena's dark hair. He was thrilled when it elicited a gasp from the maiden.

Drawing Rowena to him until he could feel her breath upon his face, Godric subdued a shudder of exhilaration as he closed his eyes and bent his head to seek her lips. It was as if a spell had descended upon the shrouded pool, purging them of all their thoughts about the harsh realities of the brutal world they inhabited beyond the veil of foliage surrounding them. They were frozen in time and caught in a tempest of desire as their faces stumbled closer and their lips parted in anticipation of the kiss to come…

'AHEM!'

The spell broke instantly.

Godric eyes flew open, mirroring Rowena's own as they released their hands and leaped apart as if parted by a spell. The bubble had burst, expunging the warm feeling which had consumed them and leaving the icy chill of thwarted desire in its wake. They turned to find Salazar lurking in the gloom at the veils edges. The sun was low in the sky and the two companions were startled to discover that some much time had passed without them realising.

'Salazar?' Godric growled,

'Lady Morwenna requested Rowena's presence,' Salazar said, unable to keep from smirking, 'do you want me to return and tell her that I could not find you?'

Rowena flushed immediately, mortified at what Salazar was insinuating. Godric's gaze was murderous.

'I'll…I'll do as the Lady Morwenna wishes,' Rowena stuttered, refusing to meet Godric's gaze as she strode away from lowering her eyes and striding away from him. She didn't even look at Salazar as she rushed past. Godric mirrored her, although he walked more slowly.

'Well, well, well,' Salazar murmured, grinning widely and brimming with pride as he met Godric's pace and the two young men began to follow Rowena back to the keep, 'who would have thought you'd be one for a triste coupling. Godric, you dog!'

Godric didn't reply. The temptation to throttle his friend was far too great…


	31. Thirty: Night of Prophecy

**Night of Prophecy**

Rowena hurried along the trail which led to the keep and didn't look back once. Godric followed glumly in her wake, forced to put up with Salazar's remarks about the embrace the young wizard had discovered his two friends in. The impulse to punch the smirk off Salazar's face was almost overpowering, but the consequences outweighed any satisfaction he would take from the deed. The last thing they needed was more unwanted scrutiny. Watching Rowena flee between Avalon's glades, Godric cursed his misfortune. She had barely said anything since Salazar had burst the spell his friends had woven. Godric wondered what Rowena was thinking and feared that she may be regretting their recklessness and the kiss they had almost shared. Shaking his head, Godric found himself cursing Salazar silently.

Godric shook his head and silently cursed Salazar as they crested the hill's summit and slipped past the pair of stone sentinels who guarded Avalon's gate. Rowena scurried away before they had emerged from the shadows of the gateway, choosing not to look back at Godric. The young knight looked on morosely until he was nudged from his reverie by Salazar. His friend was gesturing at where four figures stood talking together in the bailey.

During Godric and Rowena's excursion, several more riders had come to Avalon. Godric instantly recognised Amalric Black, the tallest of the three and the most lavishly dressed. He was talking politely with Alain, whilst two dour, black-cloaked retainers waited nearby. Fortunately, Ramon Bigot had chosen not to accompany his friend, much to Godric's relief. A loud chorus of singing rose up from the guardroom, drowning out what was being said between Alain and Black.

However, their presence did not go unnoticed and Alain soon drew them over with a wave of his hand.

'Do you remember these young men, Amalric?'

'How could I forget,' Black's said with a smile that didn't reach his calculating eyes, 'since Ynys Mon, it seems that every wizard in Britain cannot stop talking about the young paladin and the gifted orator. For apprentices, they have shown great promise.'

'They are no longer my apprentices,' Alain smiled proudly, 'I deemed them worthy of the accolade of being ranked amongst the knights and wizards of Britain. They will march to war with us in the coming campaign.'

'I shall sleep more soundly at night knowing that they will be with us,' Black replied dryly. Godric scowled, convinced that Black was ridiculing them. Judging by the clenching of his jaw, Alain had noticed it too. However, the Lord of Avalon diplomatically schooled his features into an amicable mask.

'I must go and see to my guests,' Alain said affably, 'if you will allow it, Amalric, then I am sure that Salazar and Godric will be honoured to see your horses stabled and your possessions will be taken to the quarters prepared for you.'

'Of course, Lord Alain,' Black said, offering the Lord of Avalon the shortest bow Godric had ever witnessed. Alain smiled tightly, before returning to the hall where his guests were assembled. Yet, as the Lord of Avalon disappeared into the keep, Ella strode into the bailey. Godric marvelled at her appearance. Gone was the sullen disenchantment which had plagued her countenance for months. Now her eyes were blazing with a renewed fire that had dulled since she had last seen her lover and which, on his arrival, had suddenly been rekindled.

Ella ignored Alain's knowing smirk and the gaping onlookers as she stared at Black, who broke into a resplendent smile at the sight of her. Then she was running and leaped into her lover's waiting arms, barging Salazar out of the way as she did. As Salazar scowled and rubbed at his sore shoulder, Godric observed Black closely and was reminded of how many young lords looked upon a favoured hunting falcon. Black laughed and gently peeled her from him, before claiming her lips in a passionate kiss. Godric and Salazar shifted awkwardly, whilst Black's retainers looked wholly unconcerned by their master's display of affection.

At that moment, the door to the guardroom suddenly opened and to Godric and Salazar's horror, it was Hamon who emerged into the dying light, buckling his sword to his belt. The tawny-haired man glanced at the lovers, briefly hesitated and then forcibly looked away as he began to trudge through the churned up mud towards the keep. Unfortunately, he did not go unnoticed by the embracing lovers.

Black heard Hamon approaching and, not seeing the sword hanging from Hamon's hip, mistook the young knight for a common servant. Godric hoped this was the case, for even with a quick glance, Black would have noted that Hamon's lack of wizarding robes indicated that he came from Muggle heritage. Godric doubted that it was an accident, for Black took pride from his ability to read men easily. Yet, whatever his motives, whether it was because he recognised Hamon as the young man who was enamoured with his lover or because he was just an utter bastard, Black completely misjudged.

Drawing away from Ella's eager lips, Black slapped his riding gloves into Hamon's chest as the Muggle passed him.

'Here,' Black said pompously, 'take my belongings to the sleeping quarters and try not to break anything valuable. I know how you Muggles can be clumsy oafs…'

Hamon froze, looking momentarily stunned at Black's daring. When he began to laugh incredulously, thinking that the wizard was jesting, he soon learned that he was mistaken. Black frowned at Hamon's amused response, before suddenly lashing out and slapping the Muggle hard across the face with a hand adorned with jewelled rings.

'How dare you laugh at me,' Black snapped, 'I'm a wizard, you insolent dog. Treat your superiors with more respect, Muggle, or pay the price…'

Despite his swelling cheek, Hamon continued to gawk comically at the wizard who had struck him. But then his face darkened as a storm of rage consumed him, leaving no trace of his good nature. In his place stood a warrior whose pride had just been insulted.

Hamon's hands shout out, shoving Black so forcefully that it sent the wizard sprawling into the mud. Hamon's assault on Black was so astonishing that it rendered the wizard speechless, but his retainers were not as stunned. Wands were freed from their sheaths and directed at Hamon, whose hand flew to his sword, drawing it in one fluid motion as he prepared to take on both of Black's companions alone.

Black sprung spritely to his feet, his rich robes stained with dirt and looking furious as Godric and Salazar made to intervene before blood was spilled. Struggling with his filthy cloak, Black finally managed to free his arms and draw his own wand. No one noticed how the hearty singing from the guardroom had fallen silent as members of Alain's retinue emerged into the light and gaped at the scene. Even when facing several wizards with nothing but a sword to call upon, Hamon refused to back down. Resting a hand on his sword and preparing to step in to put a stop to the imminent brawl, Godric thought that Hamon had never looked more like his warrior father than he did at that moment.

'STOP!' a voice barked, interrupting the standoff and bringing the confrontation to an instant halt. Yet, it was no wizard or knight who intervened, but Ella who leaped between the opponents and levelled them all with a furious glare so fierce that a wild beast would have fled before it, 'your all being fools.'

Her command fell on deaf ears, for Black and Hamon were not listening. Both men continued to glare at each other and their anger was palpable. Ella ignored it, her frown deepening as she seethed at their stubbornness.

'Sir Hamon,' she snapped waspishly, turning on the younger knight, 'sheathe your sword.'

'I will when the bastard lowers his wand,' Hamon growled stubbornly,

'Do it!' Ella suddenly snarled and slapped his blade away. Miraculously, the whore was not hurt by the sword's edge, her hand striking the flat of his blade. Her boldness drew Hamon's attention and he held her gaze for a long time. Looking mutinous, the young knight nevertheless did as the whore wished and reluctantly sheathed the threatening sword. Despite this, the atmosphere remained tense and Hamon's hand refused the leave the hilt of the weapon. Ella stared at him for a heartbeat longer until, satisfied that Hamon would cause no further trouble, she turned to face her infuriated lover.

'Lord,' she said soothingly in an attempt to douse Black's anger, 'calm yourself. This rage is unbecoming of a wizard of your bloodline.'

'He struck me,' Black hissed curtly, 'bastard Muggle!'

'I am also a Muggle,' Ella challenged Black, 'do you find fault in me because of it? Sir Hamon may have been born a Muggle, but he is also an accomplished knight. You misjudged him when you mistook him for a servant and insulted his pride by striking him.'

'He's still a bastard,' Black spat unforgivingly and Hamon growled beneath his breath,

'He's a spirited young man,' Ella snapped back, stoically holding her ground in the face of her lover's rising ire, 'and his wits are clearly dulled by ale. He was wrong to hit you, but believe me when I say that there is no finer wielder of a lance in this part of the kingdom. I am sure that when dawn comes and he has time to reflect on his mistakes, he'll come to regret his rash behaviour. Please Lord, if you have been insulted then let no feud come of this.'

'I am a Black,' her lover replied callously, 'we find it hard to forgive insults.'

'Nevertheless,' Ella countered, 'you may be the heir to a great magical family, Lord, but Sir Hamon has a mighty lineage also. He is the son of Hugh, Lord Alain's castellan and a famous troll-slayer.'

Godric saw Black hesitate. He was not surprised, for Hugh's fearsome reputation in battle was well known to the wizards of Britain. It was no easy feat slaying a troll, especially for a wizard. Godric could tell that this was not lost upon Black, as it helped to douse his fury.

'I trust you, my love,' Black finally acknowledged. Taking Ella into his arms, he kissed her gently on the mouth. But his eyes remained on Hamon as he did so and when Hamon looked away, a victorious smile crowned Black's features.

'Promise me that there will be no feud?' Ella insisted sternly after they had parted.

'I cannot promise it,' Black murmured, 'but I know that Muggles are brutish men and strangers to the civilised bearing expected of wizards. If he regrets it, then let us hear it from the boy's own mouth. He cannot have you there all the time to fight his battles for him, my love.'

'I think enough time has been spent squabbling like goblins,' Salazar interjected, 'why not let bygones be bygones…'

'Let us hear it,' Black snapped rudely, silencing Salazar abruptly and looking expectantly at Hamon. Godric watched his friend closely, for it was as if Hamon's good nature had never existed, for the indignant fury which radiated from the Muggle's face revealed his hatred for the wizard who antagonised him. However, Ella was also watching him and it was her fierce gaze and nod of encouragement which finally prompted him to speak.

'I meant no disrespect,' Hamon finally choked out, looking sickened.

'I am a wizard and you are a Muggle,' Black snapped, 'call me Lord!'

'Yes,' Hamon hissed through clenched teeth, his scowl contorting further, 'Lord.'

Hamon didn't mean it, but the cheap victory was enough to satisfy Black's bruised pride. He sniffed haughtily, before ordering Godric and Salazar to deal with his horses. Then he led his lover towards the keep, using magic to expel the worst of the filth from his extravagant tunic. Black's dour retainers followed their master, keeping a watchful eye on Hamon, who remained stricken with a face which could have been carved from stone.

'Hamon?' Godric addressed his friend cautiously, but the Muggle knight was in no mood to talk. He simply spun on his heels and marched stiffly away from his friends so that he could return to the guardroom. He obviously wanted to be away from the presence of Ella, Black, and all wizards, even if they were like brothers to him. When Hamon strode past Bayard, the older knight exchanged a knowing look with Godric and Salazar, silently agreeing to keep their friend away from trouble.

The two wizards were left to steer Black's horses to the stables. Salazar exhaled in relief as soon as they passed its threshold.

'Merlin, but that was close,' Salazar exclaimed, ruffling his oiled hair, 'do you realise how close Hamon came to being cursed?'

'Or how close Black came to being skewered?' Godric replied sombrely. Hamon may be a Muggle, but Godric had recognised the madness shining in Hamon's eyes. The battle-haze had been on the brink of consuming Hamon and having experienced the same madness, Godric knew his friend had been willing to end Black's life before Ella's timely interruption.

'I fear Hamon may have made a dangerous enemy tonight.'

'Black's a bastard…'

'True enough,' Salazar shrugged noncommittedly, 'but he's a bastard with both a vast hoard of gold and a name noble enough to inspire many men to answer Black's call if he decides he wants Hamon dead.'

'If he dares,' Godric growled resolutely, 'then he'll have to face me first.'

'You'd have to wait your turn,' Salazar promised with a sad smile, 'and let's face it. There wouldn't be much left of him if Hugh heard of it.'

'Forget Hugh,' Godric chuckled, 'Black would have to contend with Morwenna. Merlin help anyone who stirred her rage by harming us.'

Salazar laughed, for he knew it was true. Nonetheless, after their laughter had subsided, Godric felt a shudder run through him. He wondered about the extent in which Hamon's sudden flaring temper had been influenced by Ella's strident passion for Black and Hamon's own unrequited feelings. After all, history was stained by the blood spilled during feuds over women.

That evening, Avalon's great hall reverberated with excited chatter that night. The most prestigious guests were seated beside the Lord of Avalon at the high table. Morwenna sat serenely by Alain's side, content to let Alain lead the conversation, which allowed her to scrutinise her domain with a sharp eye. As always, Magge's food exceeded all expectations, creating a warmth and lavish atmosphere, an aura aided by Lambert's experienced hand and Hugh's watchful gaze, which ensured that no one got exceedingly drunk.

For Godric, it was both an awkward and exhilarating affair, for he had found himself seated between Salazar and Rowena. The young knight suspected that Morwenna was behind the seating arrangements and the wink she gave him when their gazes crossed paths all but confirmed it. Godric was initially flustered with nerves, expecting Rowena to be frosty and distant after the debacle in Avalon's glades. Yet, despite Godric's fears and the blush which briefly stained her cheeks as Godric claimed the bench beside her, it did not take long for their relationship to return to normalcy and they were soon laughing and talking together again.

Fortunately, their proximity went unnoticed by Salazar, for Isobel the Enchantress had wandered down to the lower tables so that she could talk with the charming young wizard who had dazzled the Wizengamot with his oratory skills.

However, their friendship did not go unnoticed by everyone. Morwenna could barely contain her joy as she watched the pair speaking together, whilst Aidan Scatter-Brain was practically giddy with his good fortune. They weren't the only ones, for many of the serving girls were glaring enviously at Rowena and Sannan's glare was particularly venomous as she looked ready to scream. Even Ella glanced their way once, before swiftly returning her attentions to her lover. The whore currently languished at the high table, although she was seated unconventionally upon Black's lap, where she appeared to have recovered some of her old verve for verbal sparring, judging by the frequent laughter of her nearby companions and the catty jibes she exchanged the Lady of Avalon.

Godric would have liked to have spoken with Rowena more, especially about what had almost transpired in the glade of the nine maiden's pool, which had left a tempest of opposing emotions within his heart. However, Godric had a rival for Rowena's attention. For once, Yusuf hadn't needed to be prised away from his tower to join the Lord of Avalon's feast and to Godric's indignation, he took the seat on Rowena's other side. To Godric's despair, both the old scholar and the maiden seemed delighted by the in-depth deliberations they were having on the history and nature of magic.

Godric desperately tried to contribute to their discussion, but he soon gave up. Instead, he was forced to watch on as Rowena and Yusuf enthusiastically discussed Morgana the Fae's 'The Secrets of Druidic Magic,' the first chronicle to reveal the spells and laws of magical Britain in an era before the might of Rome reached its shores. Rowena was delighted to discover how the esteemed pupil of Merlin, now revered for her many works on the history of magic, was vilified in her own day for revealing the forbidden secrets of practices such as violent rituals and mysterious spells in a written chronicle.

The same passion which had once coursed through Morgana's veins now stirred Rowena's own as the maiden ridiculed this short-sighted and detrimental adherence to outdated traditions brought a warm smile to Godric's lips.

'How do we know it was such a great piece of work?' Godric eventually blurted out, 'weren't lots of chronicles lost when Rome's empire collapsed? There could have once been even greater works than Morgana's writings…'

The young knight stopped speaking when he realised that his companions were staring at him incredulously. Yusuf looked positively scandalised and unwilling to even consider such a preposterous idea.

'Don't be absurd, Godric,' the scholar snapped impatiently. In contrast, Rowena smiled at him in amusement before returning to her conversation, leaving Godric feeling both forlorn and incredibly stupid.

Godric did not notice that Ella had left the high table to prowl the hall until it was too late. The first he knew of her presence was when the whore had mounted his lap and the smell of good ale assaulted the young knight's nostrils and blurred his startled mind.

'Are you feeling ignored, Gryffindor?' Ella remarked loudly. He'd been unaware of Ella's scrutiny and felt slightly unnerved by the sly smile which adorned her face. His feasting companions paused to watch, although Hamon stubbornly refused to look up from his platter. Rowena, her attention finally prised away from the old scholar, was scowling in disapproval at Ella's brazen behaviour. The maiden tried her best to look nonchalant, but she was not as experienced as Ella and failed miserably. Rowena scowled peevishly, visibly bristling when Ella smiled triumphantly at her.

'Surely no one could ignore such an illustrious knight,' Ella cooed dramatically, her gaze flickering between the nearby women as her hand roamed freely across Godric's torso, 'only a fool maybe. Did you know that all the servants are in love with Godric, and rightly so? Who wouldn't want to taste such a ravishing morsel of manhood, especially one who is so willing and eager to please?'

Salazar spluttered, emptying half the contents of his goblet over the feasting table as Isobel frowned. Yusuf shook his head in exasperation, whilst Hamon paled, his hand clenching tightly around the hilt of his eating knife. Rowena's scowl intensified tenfold, for there was no doubting who Ella's drunken declaration was aimed at. Judging by how her own hands clenched, Godric thought Rowena looked prepared to meet Ella's challenge with her fists rather than her mind.

'What are you doing?' Godric growled, unamused and shifting uncomfortably as Ella pressed herself against him.

'I was wondering the same thing,' Black suddenly interjected. The arrogant wizard had followed his lover from the high table and was now staring at the scene in consternation, his presence immediately making them ill at ease.

'Nothing,' Ella said chirpily as she leapt gracefully off Godric's lap and into her lover's arms, 'I'm merely commenting on how much our young friend here has changed. He's caused quite a stir in Avalon since his duel against the Icelander.'

'A remarkable victory,' Black acknowledged coolly. He managed to sound unimpressed with the achievement, 'it seems some wizards were born to be the heroes of songs. The rest of us must pale in comparison to men like you, _Gryffindor_.'

'I'm no hero,' Godric reminded them,

'Perhaps not,' Black said, his steely gaze meeting the younger man's squarely, 'it is well known that some wizarding bloodlines have more ambition than others. The Blacks are famous for it and we guard our blood closely so that it is not despoiled…'

'I'll be sure to remember it,' Godric replied, straining for calm. It was clear that Black was challenging him and even Ella looked uneasy at this latest development.

'The Blacks are a proud family,' the wizard continued, refusing to look away, 'we can be a great ally and a terrible enemy, for many of those who insult the honour of the house of Black do not live long. You're good in a fight, Gryffindor, but some wizards may think you're nothing more than a barbarian because you choose to fight like a Muggle. You should embrace your magical heritage more, rather than wallowing in the mud with beasts and lesser beings.'

Black glanced disdainfully at Hamon as he said it and the Muggle made to stand, his temper finally snapping. Fortunately, Salazar exhibited an unusual bout of strength to force his friend back into his seat. Godric glared at Black, warning him not to antagonise them further.

'If I'm ever in need of a new hunting hawk,' Godric replied, 'then I'll seek your advice.'

'Don't let all that praise go to your head,' Black replied, his expression darkening, 'arrogance has been the downfall of greater men than you, Gryffindor.'

'Is that a threat?' Salazar asked coolly,

'A warning, nothing more,' Black countered, before gesturing distastefully at Hamon, 'and keep your hound leashed.'

With those departing words, Black strode off in search of his own quarters. Ella went with him, clinging to his arm as the lovers weaved through the bustling servants and feasting guests. With their departure, the friends returned to their conversations, although Hamon sought solace in ale. However, due to Ella's intervention and Yusuf deciding to retire to his tower, Rowena spent the remainder of the evening speaking with Godric about a hoard of topics, from Avalon's prestigious heritage to Godric's new responsibilities as the Lord of Black Hollow. The young knight was so obnoxiously proud of Eleanor that his earnest enthusiasm made the young maiden fall victim to a fit of giggling.

Eventually, the feast drew to an end and Godric walked Rowena to the corridor which would lead to the rooms which had been prepared for her. For a moment, they simply smiled at each other.

'Are all meals in Avalon often as eventful as this?' Rowena asked playfully,

'Sometimes,' Godric jested, smiling sheepishly as he thought back to the misdeeds which had followed their knighting ceremony, 'but usually not. It must be your unsavoury influence.'

Rowena scoffed at that and swatted him on arm, provoking a chuckle from her friend. However, the witch's good cheers did not last and soon her expression had become downcast and her mind troubled.

'It's true, isn't it?' Rowena murmured tentatively, 'what that red-haired woman said about how the servants feel about you?'

'Ella has a penchant for mischief,' Godric sighed, 'she was drunk and looking for an argument. It was an exaggeration.'

'Really?' Rowena questioned disbelievingly, gesturing across the hall where a gaggle of serving girls were glaring enviously in their direction.

'I don't really pay it any mind,' Godric said honestly,

'I've heard it is the way of young nobles,' Rowena said hesitantly, 'Fiona told me that they cool their hot-blooded natures by taking serving girls to their beds…'

'It is not my way,' Godric said fervently and a hopeful smile graced Rowena's lips. However, the maiden soon turned uncharacteristically nervous and her gaze flickered towards her father, who was still happily irritating the other guests who still dined at the high table. Looking away, she shifted awkwardly as she summoned the courage to face Godric again.

'No one should be alone on the eve of battle,' Rowena whispered so softly that Godric had to strain to hear her. Following her mysterious statement, she gave Godric a pointed look before turning away from him and heading for her bedchamber. Her servants went with her, although Kenna paused to fix Godric with a suspicious glare before disappearing after her mistress and leaving a stunned young knight frozen at the hall's threshold and pondering Rowena's enigmatic parting words.

'I'll let Hamon sleep in my chamber tonight,' Salazar whispered to Godric as the young wizard sidled up to his frozen friend, 'the Blacks are notorious for killing those they've quarrelled with and despite an offer to share the Enchantress's bed tonight, I'll sleep better knowing that Hamon is protected by the charms I've put on my door.'

'That's very noble of you,' Godric said absentmindedly,

'Of course, I'm being noble,' Salazar grouched, 'I've got an opportunity to bed a beautiful woman but instead waking up with a pretty woman in my arms, I'll have to share my chamber with a man who snores like a bloody troll!'

'They'll be plenty more chances to bed the Enchantress whilst we're on the campaign,' Godric shrugged, amused at Salazar incredulity. He was honestly surprised that his friend had the willpower to turn Isobel away, but considering that the Breton witch was the first woman he'd pursued since Rhyannon's death, then Godric could understand his frustrations.

'True,' Salazar admitted grumpily, 'but I'd prefer the privacy of my chamber. This…this is a big moment for me and I'd rather not have the likes of Bayard le Boar listening in.'

'Hamon can sleep in my chamber if you prefer?' Godric offered, understanding how tetchy Salazar and Hamon's friendship could sometimes be if they were both in foul moods.

'You'll be there?' Salazar spluttered in genuine surprise. He glanced pointedly at Rowena's retreating back, 'I thought you'd have other arrangements for tonight?'

Godric looked at his friend in disbelief,

'We can't do that!'

'Why not?' Salazar scoffed, 'with the way you've been looking at each other since Rowena arrived, I'd have thought you'd have at least decided on a place for a moment of intimacy. Wait, you weren't? I didn't interrupt anything when I?'

'No!' Godric spluttered hurriedly.

'I thought not,' Salazar smirked, despite his obvious relief, 'then it's settled. You should visit her room tonight. Judging by the way her gaze has had a habit of seeking you out and lingering on you since Lughnasadh, I'd wager that she'd welcome you.'

'Salazar,' Godric growled, lowering his voice so that none of the passing servants could pry into their conversation, 'I…I can't do that. If…if we did and we were discovered, then it would ruin her.'

'I expected you to say that you insufferable buffoon,' Salazar exclaimed in exasperation, 'overlooking your nauseating nobility if you could guarantee secrecy, then would you risk it to be with her?'

'We can't,' Godric stammered insistently, 'we can't ensure it!'

'The thing is Godric,' Salazar said slowly, as if he was speaking to a dumb child, 'we can wield something people call magic, which can be a really useful. You know the wards and charms which can safeguard against detection. Alain tutored us well in the ways of stealth and secrecy.'

'Alain taught us those spells so we could use them in battle,' Godric protested nervously, 'not so I can bed Rowena.'

'He did not intend all the spells he taught us to be used in battle,' Salazar countered, 'don't forget that Alain was young once.'

'I…' Godric continued stubbornly, 'Salazar, I can't bring shame to Rowena.'

'Do you want her to marry another man?' Salazar asked bluntly, startling his friend, 'Look, who knows what may happen once we cross the Severn You can be a paladin and still fall prey to a stray spell. No matter how promising a wizard you are, some pox-marked imbecile who doesn't know his wand from a distaff could kill you with a lucky curse or a bastard like Gawain could impale you with an arrow. There is a lot of you to aim at.'

'But…' Godric still tried to object, although Salazar was slowly chipping away at his friend's steadfast resolve.

'For Merlin's sake,' Salazar finally exclaimed, waving aside Godric's meagre objections, 'for once in your life, will you please put your honour aside and listen to what you really desire?'

This silenced Godric, whose mind raced to find any way of arguing with his friend. Salazar patiently waited for a response. It was true that Salazar knew him best, for he had recognised the desire Rowena had stirred in his friend's heart. If Salazar understood women half as much as he dared believe, then it was clear that Rowena returned Godric's feelings, unless she had mastered how to beguile and deceive men in the humble hills of her homeland. She was certainly intelligent enough, but Salazar sensed that Rowena's heart was far too honest. With well-honed subtlety, Salazar had spent half the night watching how the younger witch and wizard interact, a duty bestowed upon him by Morwenna. He saw Godric's soft smile when his gaze rested upon Rowena and witnessed all the bashful glances Rowena cast at Godric when he was not looking.

Yet, the most noticeable signs of their affections were the equally beaming smiles they shared when their shining eyes crossed paths, combined with an uncanny awareness of what the other was doing. It was a sight that gladdened Salazar's heart, for it was an experience he had shared with Rhyannon and a memory he would cherish to his dying day, regardless of the lovers he intended to have.

'I want it,' Godric declared resolutely, startling Salazar from his thoughts, 'I want Rowena...if she'll have me.'

'Then you'll have to find out,' Salazar advised, his sly grin returning, 'but for what it's worth, I don't think she'll turn you away. You may not be Merlin reborn like I am, and a beggar has more charm and a better understanding of latest fashions. Quite frankly, I have no idea what she sees in you, but obviously she does, and you can be reassured that you're far from the ugliest man I've seen. Close, but there are frightfully ugly men like Hamon to consider.'

'Thanks,' Godric mumbled in reply to Salazar's amusement, 'what confidence you inspire, Sal!'

'You'll need to be confident,' Salazar commented slyly, 'with the way Rowena was looking at you. It was as if you were a particularly appetising morsel she'd love to taste, I'd be very nervous. Are you sure you're man enough for the challenge? We could always exchange places. Why don't you protect Hamon and I'll visit Rowena. I certainly won't protest if it requires a more seasoned lover to take your place…ouch.'

Salazar rubbed at his sore head and glared good-humouredly at his scowling friend.

'Fuck off, Sal,' Godric grunted sourly, not sharing his friend's obvious glee. Salazar smiled and held up his hands innocently,

'I jest,' he chortled, 'I jest. I wish you all the best in your venture. But if you do go,' Salazar suddenly sobered, 'just know that there are other spells you will need to use tonight. Hopefully, Rowena is aware of them, for many witches are schooled in the ways of wise women so that they can ensure that there are no unwanted consequences.'

When they eventually retired to their beds, sleep continued to evade Godric. Salazar had planted a seed which rendered Godric's body restless and his mind was plagued by doubt. Questions besieged him, encouraging uncertainty to sap the walls of his own resolve. Had Salazar been right? Was Rowena waiting for him in her sleeping quarters? After all, why else would she have mentioned that Morwenna had gifted her a chamber of her own, away from the prying eyes of her father's two servants? Had her hand really lingered on his arm for as long as he remembered when they parted and had he recognised desire for a triste in her dark eyes, or was his own longing deceiving him? It wasn't an easy decision to make, for if he summoned the courage to disregard all caution and risk the scandal their lust could provoke, then the consequences could break them all. Could he really let Rowena face a future where she was dogged by rumours and insults? Could his own courage dare to brave Morwenna's wrath if the Lady of Avalon ever found out?

Godric's blood burned as he slipped out of his chamber. He crept slowly along the keeps dimly lit corridors, distrusting the charm he had cast on his own feet. Alain had shown it to his squires, intending it to be used when they approached an enemy sentry unnoticed. Godric certainly doubted that his uncle intended the spell to be misused. His eyes strained in the dark, for Godric dared not light his wand in case any idle servants or drunken guests still stalked Avalon's halls. Merlin forbid he bumped into one of the countless ghouls or spirits which were rumoured to haunt the Isle of Apples. Godric cursed, thrusting the unsettling thought from his mind. In all his night time wanderings, he had never been unfortunate enough to confront a ghoul, but it would be just his luck for such an eventuality to strike him down now. Luckily for him, such dark creatures were sleeping and none stalked the night.

The eerie stillness was broken by a scream.

Godric jumped in fright as the echo of the screams bounced off the walls around him. Then the young knight instantly forced his mind to assess the situation. The scream had been distinctly feminine in its terror and came from the wing where many guests were housed for the night, including Rowena. Both headstrong and reckless, Godric didn't hesitate, sprinting the rest of the way with his wand drawn as cries of alarm and tired groans of sleep-deprived guests greeted the scream.

The oak door to Rowena's room could not resist Godric's bulk as the young knight barrelled through the door, forcing it from its iron hinges with a loud crash. Scanning the room for danger, Godric was sent reeling backward as the sudden stench of sweat and filth bludgeoned his senses.

'Rowena?' he gasped, his eyes widening as they found Rowena. Godric was faintly aware of the distant shouts of startled inhabitants and the thunder of nearing footsteps, but he took no heed of it. What he saw robbed him of all sense and comprehension.

Rowena was sitting up in the small bed, surrounded by filth stained sheets and with her modest linen chemise so soaked in sweat that it clung to her trembling body. She didn't register his arrival, for her eyes were white and clouded. Still gawking rudely at the sight, Godric tried to speak but was unable to find his tongue until at last Rowena began to speak. When she spoke, Rowena's voice was so alien and otherworldly that it sent an immediate shiver coursing down Godric's spine, for it was as if the witch had been possessed by an inhuman entity.

' _A new dawn comes,'_ Rowena rasped out in a voice which sounded centuries old, _'born from the fires of war. An ancient relic rises and its powers shall be unleashed. Good deeds will breed evil and the foul sorcerer shall renew his reign. Look to your magic, for the great will fall and the world will weep. Evil, evil rides amongst us_!'

The enchanting voice rose in volume until Rowena unleashed another ear-splitting scream which resounded off every wall and chilled Godric to the bone. Rowena's body shuddered, consumed by a fit as the witch collapsed forwards until she was sprawled over the filthy bed. Godric remained frozen in place, watching in horror as Rowena shuddered helplessly upon the bed. Then, releasing one last great choking gasp she escaped from her terrifying and bewitching trance.

Laying stricken in her dishevelled state, Rowena's dark eyes slowly returned. Shivering, Rowena looked up through strands of drenched hair and locked gazes with Godric's. She appeared startled by his presence, surprised to see him there and mortified at being found stained in filth and with blood dribbling from her nose and ears. For a brief moment and regardless of her meek and ravaged state, Rowena looked ready to burst into tears and throw herself into the comfort of Godric's arms.

'What are you doing here?' a furious voice finally snapped him from his astonishment and Godric recognised Rowena's nurse Kenna scuttling towards them, looking thunderous, 'Come away, master!'

However, Godric was saved from the servant's wrath when Kenna came to an abrupt halt at seeing the terrifying state Rowena was in. Instantly forgetting Godric, Kenna pushed past him and ran to her young charge in concern,

'Great Mother,' the old nurse gasped, 'Rowena, what is wrong?'

Rowena didn't reply. Instead, the tears which had threatened to overhelm a moment ago suddenly burst forth as Rowena was consumed by great heaving sobs and fell into Kenna's waiting arms. Kenna was whispering soothingly into Rowena's ear, stroking her hair in an effort to calm the maiden. Then she glared at Godric accusingly.

'What did you do?'

'I think we would all like to know that,' Alain's clear voice interrupted any protest Godric was about to make. Others stood behind the Lord of Avalon, foremost amongst them was Hugh, his sword drawn and ready to confront whatever creature had uttered the monstrous screech. Hugh had taken the post outside his friend's private chamber to defend the Lord of Avalon against any potential threat. However, most of those clustered wearily in the hall wore bemused expressions, although some like the dishevelled Aidan Scatter-Brain, were surprised to find Godric there. Godric could tell that slanderous rumours were already fermenting about the young knight's unsought for presence.

This was obvious when Morwenna arrived and levelled Godric with a glare that radiated with anger and disapproval as she rightly suspected the reason for Godric being there. The young knight gulped, but the Lady of Avalon brushed the unfortunate young knight aside and went to Rowena. Perching on the edge of the tainted bed, she drew Rowena into her own motherly embrace, ignoring the tears which stained her rich nightgown.

They soon retreated to the privacy of Alain's private chamber. Only the great lords and ladies were allowed to attend, although Godric was ordered to join them. Despite the wards already cast upon the door to ensure privacy, Hugh had decided to stand beside it, maintaining a silent watch to ensure that no unwanted ears were listening in. Rowena was seated upon the Lord of Avalon's fur covered bed with Kenna and Morwenna beside her, her hands clasped a goblet filled with a warmed spiced wine brewed to soothe her anxiety. Rowena was still deathly pale and had no memory of the grave prophecy she had spouted.

Having been the only one who had witnessed it, Alain asked a tense Godric to repeat what he had heard and by the time the young knight had finished, a silence had descended over the small gathering. It was only broken by Rowena's soft sobs.

'It's nothing more than youthful excitement,' Aidan said with a nervous laugh as he tried to dismiss his daughter's behaviour, 'there's no call for concern. It was merely a young girl's frenzied dreams. I'd wager we'd all had similar experiences after too much good food and drink. '

'It was no dream,' Godric interjected. The young knight was finding it exceedingly difficult to ignore Aidan's foolishness. Rowena's gaze flickered to Godric, before hurriedly looking away before he could return it.

'I am unfamiliar with prophecies and no little of this branch of magic,' Alain said thoughtfully, 'Taillefer used to claim that he dreamed of the future before it occurred, but we could never prove whether he spoke the truth or not.'

'I'm no expert in divination,' Morwenna said gently, 'but from what I have heard of the Sight, it appears that Rowena made a prophecy.'

'For Merlin's sake, the girl has a nightmare and we're all supposed to accept it as some miraculous vision,' Black snorted disbelievingly, 'everyone knows divination is for fools.'

'Maybe not, Lord Black,' Morwenna said patiently, 'we need to be cautious. Divination may be an unreliable discipline, one which can be easily exploited by swindlers and vagabonds. But not all prophecies should be dismissed and there are some which are known to have come to pass.'

'I do not doubt that Lady Morwenna,' Black replied doubtfully, 'what I remain sceptical of is why the dreams of a mere girl are believed to be real prophecies. She is not Cassandra reborn.

'It wasn't a dream,' Godric growled angrily.

'And you would know?' Black retorted mockingly, 'how is it that you were the first on the scene, Gryffindor? Aren't your rooms on the other side of the castle?'

Godric glared at Black, ignoring the reactions of his companions caused by the accusations Black alluded to. Alain frowned sternly, Rowena looked flustered and her father stared in astonishment. Morwenna and Isobel's features darkened considerably, whilst Lancel looked faintly impressed by Godric's daring. As the uncomfortable silence ground on and Godric resisted the urge to wipe the smug smile from Black's lips, Alain finally summoned enough pity for his nephew took pity on his nephew and guided the conversation back to the matter at hand.

'Is it plausible?' the Lord of Avalon asked Yusuf, who had been sat unnoticed in the corner of the room.

'In theory,' Yusuf said slowly, 'anyone with some affinity to magic can have the Sight. Even Muggles and squibs have been known to experience prophetic dreams from time to time. However, being able to wield the true sight is a rare gift. Wasn't Cassandra the only one of a pantheon of great men and women who foretold the coming of war to Troy's walls?'

'So Lord Black is right?' Lancel deduced, 'Ravenclaw doesn't have the Sight?'

'Perhaps she doesn't,' Yusuf shrugged, 'but I think she might, and I have seen more of magic than all of you combined. This girl is exceedingly bright and has displayed more sense in one night than many of you have since you first arrived in Avalon. Rowena is a very gifted witch, so it is no stretch to believe that the Sight is one of the many skills she possesses.'

'So the girl has some intelligence,' Dewa yawned, unable to mask his boredom or disappointment that there was no feral monster to fight, 'what does that prove?'

'We must remember that she is a Ravenclaw,' Yusuf continued patiently, 'even those with the most feeble of grasps of Britain's history has heard of that family, for their ancestry can be traced further than any other here, even yours Lord Black.'

Godric glimpsed the subtlest of smirks flicker on the scholar's lips as Black scoffed haughtily and scowled in displeasure.

'The Ravenclaw's share the same bloodline as Lailoken,' Yusuf went on, 'who famously had the gift of prophecy. After all, it was Lailoken who foresaw that Nimue intended to betray Merlin. But he was considered mad by his peers and was treated with the same disbelief some of you have shown Rowena. It could be argued that their failure to act led to Merlin's downfall, for if Lailoken's warning had been heeded then Nimue's plot may have been thwarted in time.'

Yusuf turned to face Alain, who was listening intently.

'There are scrolls in my archives which were dictated by prophets and oracles. If you will it, then I could look further into this? I even think that I may be the keeper of a manuscript written by Lailoken himself, although the wizard was in the throes of real madness at the time, so it is rather indecipherable…'

'It's a little pointless,' Black snorted, stubbornly refusing to let his protests be dismissed, 'No one can claim to be their ancestor reborn. If it was so, then we'd all be savages.' The wizard glanced at Hugh, 'some more than others!'

Hugh raised an eyebrow and his sword hand twitched, a threat which persuaded Black to hastily turn away.

'Her mother had the Sight.'

'Kenna!' Aidan growled warningly. His foolishness disappeared, replaced by an uncharacteristic anger as all eyes turned to Kenna, whose concerned face flushed at the scrutiny. Even Rowena seemed shocked by her nurse's bold interruption.

'Towards the end of the sickness that killed her,' Kenna continued nervously, ignoring Aidan's attempt to silence her, 'she would be stricken with strange dreams; dreams which foretold of a time when Britain would be blighted by strife and the old order would fall. In truth, I gave it little credence at the time and still remember little of what she screamed out in her fevered state…'

'Folly,' Aidan intervened, dismissing Kenna's tale with a vigorous wave of his hand, 'it is folly. My wife was no prophet. By the time she was on her deathbed, her mind was addled by a fever. They were the ramblings of a woman driven mad with pain.'

'Lord…' Kenna tried to argue, her grip tightening painfully on Rowena's arm as she fought to control her temper, 'you forget that it was I who nursed her on that deathbed and I who calmed her fevered dreams. Is it too unthinkable to see that your daughter has inherited more than just her mother's spirit and looks?'

'Impossible,' Aidan snapped harshly, 'you go too far, Kenna. The girl obviously surpassed her appetite and ate too much during the feast. Do not bring shame on my name.'

'Peace, Aidan,' Morwenna sternly interrupted the Scot, her violet eyes glowering, 'let us not stray too far and lose sight of our discussion. Rowena, usually prophecies are accompanied by visions. Is this what happened?'

Rowena nodded meekly,

'What did you see?' Alain prompted her kindly. Rowena glanced at the Lord of Avalon, before lowering her gaze in discomfort at being addressed so directly by a great lord of magic. However, his gentle nature soon prompted Rowena into loosening her tongue and reveal what nightmarish apparitions had haunted her.

'I saw,' she croaked, 'I saw a great cauldron of gold shining as brightly as the sun and being toppled by an unknown entity, its contents spewing forth in a river of blood which drowned a city as thousands of voices cried out in horror. I saw men, women and…and children. I saw them all being killed, cut down by savage men. All the while, they kept shouting " _God wills it! God wills it_!"'

Rowena let out a great cry as more tears welled in her eyes and her body returned to being wracked by renewed sobs. Yet, she could not stop describing what the Sight had shown her.

'People were running and screaming for mercy, only to be given none. Then…then it changed. I saw a roaring fire engulf a bright castle. The flames rose so high into the sky, they cast a shadow over all of Britain…'

Rowena stopped abruptly, raising a hand to her mouth in a futile attempt to subdue the fresh torrent of vomit which spilled from her. Many grimaced and drew away from the heaving maiden as the stench of her retching assaulted their senses. Black looked particularly disgruntled. Godric fidgeted, resisting the overwhelming urge to go to Rowena. But it would be unseemly and bring further unwanted scrutiny to their friendship, so he turned to face his uncle instead. However, what he saw caused a cold shiver of unease to grip his heart.

Alain and Morwenna were staring at each other, conversing silently with just a look. Godric recognised fear and dread in the Lady of Avalon's eyes, glowing with an intensity he had never seen there before. Alain was grim and for once could not hide his own anxiety. Yet, he also looked oddly resigned, for if the castle Rowena had mentioned was Avalon, then he would do all in his power to ensure such a fate never came to pass. However, the Lord of Avalon's apprehension seeped into the hearts of all their companions and when they returned to their beds, few got any real sleep as Rowena's prophetic dreams gnawed at their thoughts and frayed their nerves.

Avalon stirred at daybreak and the island's inhabitants rose early from their pallets to ready themselves for war. The fires in Magge's kitchens were ablaze as the cook and her girls sweated and toiled to provide supplies for the fighters who would ride to battle whilst Belin held a mass to bless those who followed the Christian faith and pray for a swift victory. The bailey rang with work of smiths, whilst servants hurried to complete their duties.

Despite his lack of sleep, Godric rose with the rest of the household and could not restrain the surge of excitement he felt for the coming campaign. Avalon was a hive of activity as everyone from knights to servants made their final preparations for war. Alain was taking no chances with his retinue's safety and he made stringent efforts to ensure that all those who had sworn to follow his banner would ride out clad in their arms and armour. Godric felt his heart swell with pride as he strapped on his mail hauberk and the resplendent scarlet tabard which adorned it. His broadsword was buckled to his shoulder and his wand rested in a leather holster at his forearm. Godric's saddlebags were brimming with supplies, whilst his kite-shaped shield with its rampant golden lion hung from his saddle. They were all charmed to lighten the weight of their load, ensuring that Llamrei would be as fleet-footed as the wildest steeds from legend. The warhorse whinnied impatiently, sensing its master's exhilaration.

Rising from his pallet to meet his friends in the bailey, Hamon looked refreshed and had recovered some of his old exuberance. Salazar didn't look quite as enthused and Godric suspected that his friend had accurately predicted that his sleep would be disturbed by Hamon's incessant snoring. Whilst they secured their own supplies to their saddles, Godric updated his friends on what had transpired the previous night, for Hamon and Salazar had slept through the commotion and remained ignorant of Rowena's prophecy. They both looked troubled after Godric had recounted the tale, although there was a glimmer of respect in their eyes.

'A prophecy?' said Hamon, 'don't most prophecies predict future doom and dark deeds?'

'Yes,' Salazar admitted, before asking Godric if he'd known Rowena possessed such a gift.

'No,' Godric replied honestly, hiding the shiver which ran down his spine as he recalled the sight of a possessed Rowena screaming in the grips of an otherworldly power, 'I got the impression that it's not something she wanted others to know. Her father certainly didn't.'

'I'm not surprised,' Salazar snorted, 'prophets and oracles have been treated as much with suspicion and fear as they have been revered. Most fall foul of kings who had grown displeased with their power and wind up being killed. Others have taken their own lives when their visions are met with disbelief or ridicule.'

'Surely that doesn't happen these days?' Hamon asked disconcertingly,

'It won't,' Godric said firmly. Salazar didn't look quite as certain.

'Let's hope not,' Salazar murmured sceptically as he remembered how susceptible people were to fear and the violence it could perpetrate.

'It won't happen,' Godric repeated determinedly. If Rowena was threatened with such a fate, then whoever dared do it would find Godric's wand barring their way.

'What are you talking about?' An unexpected voice startled them. The three friends spun around to discover that Rowena had approached them unnoticed, her hair untamed as it fluttered in the morning breeze. Godric saw that her skin was still ghostly pale, whilst her eyes were encircled by dark shadows caused by a sleepless night.

'Nothing,' they each stuttered simultaneously, flushing with embarrassment as Rowena frowned disbelievingly. However, she decided to not to comment on the blatant gossiping she'd caught them doing and turned to address Godric.

Only to be momentarily taken aback when she beheld him garbed in all his war-glory. Rowena Watching him closely, Rowena was rendered suddenly speechless, as if she was seeing her friend as a knight for the first time as her wide eyes danced over his gleaming mail and the golden lion that roared ferociously on his tabard. When she saw the familiar raven brooch pinned to his breast, Rowena's face turned crimson.

'You,' she spluttered gracelessly, 'you look…'

'Heroic?' Hamon answered for her, grinning widely in amusement.

'Very heroic,' Salazar added with a mischievous smirk, 'it's shocking how someone who so often dresses like a beggar can look so gallant when dressed for war…'

'No,' Hamon argued mockingly, 'surely you don't mean this demi-god?'

'Piss off,' Godric warned them, looking ready to hit his friends if they continued to mock them.

'Leave him be,' Rowena suddenly found her voice, shaking her head and blushing brightly at their jibes.

'As you command, fair lady,' Hamon cried with a flamboyant bow as Salazar laughed. However, they took heed of the warnings and did not linger for long, pulling their horses a short distance away to give Rowena and Godric a chance to speak freely and undisturbed.

'There is something different about you,' Rowena said quietly, gesturing at his attire, 'dressed like this, you seem more confident; more assured when clad in your war-gear. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that you were born in a mail hauberk.'

'Is that a good thing?'

'Yes,' she said quickly, 'there's little of the humble and horrid-looking waif I met that first night in the warrior before me.'

'Thank you,' Godric blurted out awkwardly,

'Or maybe I spoke too soon,' she chuckled after seeing his burning cheeks, before falling silent. Godric didn't say anything, sensing that Rowena was not finished. He was proven right when she suddenly sighed, 'I wish I was going with you.'

'This is for the best,' Godric replied. That was true, for Rowena's training had rarely delved into the ways of the warrior and she could find herself outmatched by more experienced fighters if she entered a melee, 'you'll be safe in Avalon.'

'But I can fight,' Rowena insisted, 'I can help. You say that it is safer to remain here, yet you so willingly march to war?'

'I swore an oath to follow Alain,' Godric shrugged, 'and I've spent years preparing for this moment. I've learned how to fight, Rowena, and I'll have loyal friends by my side. There's no reason to worry.'

'I hope so,' she breathed softly. Just like at their parting on Ynys Mon, Rowena seemed to be waging an internal battle between desire and abiding by the codes of conduct which governed them. Regardless of propriety, she clearly wished to embrace him. However, such brazen behaviour was out of the question. The bailey was crowded with people and Avalon's inhabitants were already whispering about how close Alain's youngest knight and Scatter-Brain's daughter were. Godric wondered if she envied the freedom in which Black and Ella embraced and said their farewells. Godric yearned to return to that brief, magical moment in Avalon's glades before Salazar had unwittingly disturbed them when they had hovered on the brink of sharing a chaste kiss.

'Last night…' she suddenly announced, unable to restrain the torment which plagued her,

'Rowena,' Godric shushed her. There was nothing more to be said on the prophecy and the otherworldly power which had possessed the witch, 'you don't have to…'

'You are not horrified?' Rowena asked timidly, obviously not believing his assurance.

'Not when it comes to you,' he replied and was rewarded with a blush.

'I wish we had more time…' Rowena sighed nervously, her fingers fidgeting with the coarse cloth of her dress, 'we need to talk…we need to talk about what…almost happened?'

'You're right,' Godric agreed, 'we'll talk more when I return.'

'If you return?' the witch breathed dejectedly,

'I will,' Godric said resolutely with youthful bravado. It may not have helped ease all of Rowena's fears, but it won him a small, affectionate smile.

'My confident Sir Gryffindor,' Rowena chuckled beneath her breath. Instead of embracing him, Rowena reached out and traced a hand delicately over the raven brooch she had gifted him. She held his gaze steadily,

'You have this,' she whispered. Feeling bold, Godric grasped her hand in his own and squeezed it gently, causing her eyes to flutter close at his gentle touch.

'For luck,' Godric agreed, smiling reassuringly. Rowena reopened her eyes and returned his smile when Godric released her hand.

'Don't worry, Rowena,' Hamon interrupted them, calling over from where he had been eavesdropping, 'I'll make sure his pretty face remains unscathed.'

'We have very different opinions when it comes to beauty,' Salazar said in mock revulsion. But he was smiling as he met Rowena's gaze, 'Godric becomes a bloody fool when he has a sword in his hand, but we'll make sure the reckless idiot returns.'

'I hate you,' Godric sighed despairingly, glaring at his friends.

'Make sure he does,' Rowena said to them, chuckling softly at their teasing.

A loud blast from a horn brought their discussion to a premature end. The four friends exchanged glances, for the horn call meant that it was time to depart. Rowena bestowed a final smile upon them all, her gaze momentarily lingering on Godric. Then she dutifully shuffled away to wish her father farewell. They were not the only ones who were saying their goodbyes, for it appeared as if every soul on the Isle of Apples had gathered in the bailey to watch the Lord of Avalon ride to war.

Alain's retainers were uncharacteristically sombre as they parted with their friends and loved ones. This included Tancred and Dunstan, for the two men had been chosen to remain in Avalon and guard Alain's household. Whilst they were both disgruntled at not joining their comrades on campaign, they understood and accepted Alain's judgement. It was clear that Rowena's prophecy had shaken the Lord and Lady of Avalon, but when Godric had questioned whether his two comrades would be enough to defend the castle if invaders threatened it, his uncle merely smiled cryptically.

'Godric, there are far older and more powerful protections in the stones and waters of Avalon than just Tancred and Dunstan,' Alain answered mysteriously, sharing a smile with his waiting wife. Godric noticed how Morwenna blushed at her husband's words, before bestowing a knowing smile on Godric. It was the first time Godric had seen her smile since the contents of Rowena's prophecy had been revealed.

As Godric hoisted himself into the saddle, Rowena went to her father to wish him well on his travels. Scatter-Brain's beaming smile seemed out of place in the austere atmosphere which had descended over Avalon since daybreak. He barely heard his daughter's blessing in his unbridled excitement. Rowena sighed in resignation at her father's behaviour, before stepping back and standing apart from the small crowd, wrapping her cloak tightly about her trembling body as if it could shield her from the questioning glances many of Avalon's inhabitants were levelling her with.

It was obvious that idle-tongues had already revealed the source of the scream which had disturbed their sleep. Godric sighed, for he was helpless to put a stop to the gossip which would plague Rowena in the days to come. He didn't doubt that the young witch had the strength of will to ignore it, but he knew how cruel gossip could be if it was fuelled by fear could be and only wished that he had more time to comfort the visibly unsettled maiden.

However, where Godric and Rowena had abided by social convention, Black and Ella had no such qualms. Black held Ella in his long arms, who was whispering something in his ear which made the wizard smile ruefully. He pulled her to him so that the lovers could share a breathless kiss before they finally parted. That Hamon's gaze did not linger on the lovers was a testament to the young knight's true nature and ironclad resolve.

Surrounded by his mounted companions, Godric soon realised that many of those who had assembled in the bailey that morning were drawn to the most poignant parting of all. Dressed for war, the Lord of Avalon had yet to join his comrades. Instead, his mailed arms enveloped his wife in a tender embrace. They held each other for a very long time, the sole inhabitants of their own, private and enchanting world, ignoring those who waited patiently for Alain to lead the war-band to war. Alain stared into his wife's violet eyes and he gently ran his hand through her soft braided hair, which drew an enchanting smile from Morwenna.

Alain dipped his head to kiss Morwenna, before whispering into her ear. Surprisingly, Morwenna laughed aloud and slapped his chest playfully. Then she lifted her hand and tenderly traced it across his shaven jaw. Morwenna didn't hesitate to claim her husband's lips again with a passion the Lord and Lady of Avalon rarely exhibited outside of their bedchamber.

When they finally parted, Alain grasped Morwenna's hand and raised it to his lips, their smiles beaming in a manner reminiscent of young lovers embarking on their first voyage of discovery into the delights and exhilaration love could offer. Tears fell freely down their faces, for the love and admiration the Lord and Lady of Avalon felt for each other shone from them.

Godric marvelled at the tenderness being displayed. Alain and Morwenna's farewells were usually more contrite when Alain previously rode away from Avalon's borders for matters of state or war. Godric, despite the touching scene, couldn't help but wonder at what had prompted this change in their behaviour.

Finally, Alain mustered the strength to turn away from Morwenna, who smiled through her tears as she released her husband's hands. Alain strode to where Hugh waited with the Lord of Avalon's great warhorse and assisted his friend into the saddle. Mounting the beast gracefully, Alain took his helmet from Hugh's hands and placed it upon his mail covered head. Godric and his friends grinned at the awed reactions this provoked from their allies, who were suddenly staring at the great Lord Alain of Avalon as they encountered the warlord who was both feared and revered across Britain. Only Black's aloof expression remained unfazed, although his sour pout hinted at his envy.

With a final wave of his hand, Alain flashed his tearful wife a last, bright smile and made her laugh when he ended the flamboyant gesture by blowing a kiss. Then he was gone, spinning his horse about and riding through the gate, his grey cloak and great, newly embroidered banner billowing in the wind behind them. The cheers of his household and a lingering horn call echoed in his wake, calling for his followers and allies to join the Lord of Avalon on the road to battle.

The three friend's grinned at each other before Hamon let out a wild, exuberant howl of glee and Salazar laughed in exhilaration before Godric's friends followed Alain and his allies beyond Avalon's gate. Yet, before Godric followed them, the young knight took one last look at the gleaming white-walled castle; at the familiar faces of those who had come to watch them leave and the tall keep with its colourful banners flying in the wind. Godric's grin widened, unable to control the nervous energy which consumed him as he kicked Llamrei into a gallop and set out to win honour and renown.

Great deeds awaited him, for Godric Gryffindor was riding to war.

* * *

Another two up and ten more to go. Shouldn't be too long before the next batch of three chapters are up. Let me know what you think. Cheers to everyone who has read, reviewed and decided to follow the story, very much appreciated. Until next time...


	32. Thirty-One: War and Glory

**War and Glory**

After leaving Avalon, the company immediately rode for Gofanon's hall, a stronghold hidden deep in the labyrinth of hills and valleys of Wales. It had been agreed that their retaliation to the raiding warbands would begin there, where Gofanon was assembling his own kinsmen for the war. It took the Lord of Avalon's three days to cross the Severn and reach his old friend's land.

They entered the valley via a wooded trial to the haunting clamour of horn's blowing in the treetops, where men were perched on platforms in the green foliage and who waved in welcome as the Lord of Avalon rode by their dens. Following a road marked with old, grotesque statues of wild beasts and fearsome spirits, they were led to the foot of a sunlit valley which opened into a flood plain stretching out from a meandering brook nearby. Overlooking it all on a small hillock at the valley's heart stood a great, golden hall glowing magnificently in the sun.

Looking on in wonder, Godric felt as if he had stumbled upon a place lost in time. Gofanon's hall was the very ideal of a bygone age only remembered in the tales sang by bards. Sleepy, golden-thatched homesteads surrounded the base of the hillock, smoke rising from their warm hearths. The hall itself was made of stone and timber, pieced together with magic and the work of master craftsmen. Its walls were adorned with the tales of dozens of heroes and the skull of a mighty, snarling dragon crowned the hall's threshold. Once the skull had belonged to a monstrous beast which had terrorised the surrounding hills until one of Helga's illustrious ancestors had slain it in battle and decorated his hall with its head.

Godric's awed gaze flittered between great, unblemished rings of stone said to have been forged by ancient giants and staring up towards a solitary tower looming over the great hall from the crest of a small mountain. It was a tower founded by Helga's most prestigious ancestor, Taliesin, who had named his hall Mynydd-y-ser, the Mountain of Stars.

Its peaceful beauty starkly contrasted with the abandoned homesteads and smouldering ruins which had greeted Alain's company since crossing the Severn. Mynydd-y-ser may have lacked the spectacle of Avalon, but it was still a spellbinding place of powerful magic.

Gofanon the Wise welcomed them at the threshold of his hall. Regardless of the heavy gold torques which adorned his body and his neatly plaited beard, Godric thought the old wizard looked frailer since they had last parted, which was especially prominent when he opened his wide, skeletal arms and enveloped Alain in a warm embrace. However, Gofanon seemed hearty enough when he insisted on embracing both Godric and Salazar, almost beaming when Alain informed him that they had recently been knighted.

'Gryffindor and Slytherin,' Gofanon mused, scrutinising them with twinkling blue eyes, 'now those are names which will last a thousand years.'

'It would be an honour to be counted amongst great wizards like you, Lord,' Salazar replied smoothly as Godric reddened at the praise, 'but I fear that it will remain a dream which is never realised.'

'I see that you have not lost that silver-tongue,' Gofanon chuckled, clapping them on the back with a hand covered with rings before returning to Alain, 'it is a relief to see you here so soon, old friend. Come; let us feast and share news. My men will see to your belongings. The last thing you'll want is for one of these measly rodents wreaks havoc with them.'

The old wizard used his foot to shoo away a speckle-fur covered creature which was walking past. It was a kneazle, a magical feline with large ears, flecked fur and a penchant for finding riches. Mynydd-y-ser was infested by them, a rare oddity in magical households for most wizards considered them to be pests and hunted them with hounds and spears.

'Lady Helga insisted upon it,' muttered Cadwgan ap Bleddyn, one of Gofanon's chief supporters, when they met him again. He was a serious man and a prince amongst his people and he seemed to disapprove of Helga's compassion for the beasts which roamed her great-grandfather's hall, 'there must be scores of them here. Even when they ruin the local crops or feast on Gofanon's hawks, Lady Helga will let no harm come to them and her great-grandfather can rarely resist the girl's will. She'd have us saving the trolls in the high peaks or freeing our elves if we'd let her.'

Cadwgan rolled his eyes in exasperation, but Godric could only smile as he remembered Helga's charitable nature from their time together on Ynys Mon. The newcomers were quickly issued into the hall, despite Gervais protests as he was interrupted from enthusiastically lecturing his brother about the natively bred horses grazing in a nearby field, where they were welcomed with a lavish feast for those who had answered the call to arms.

A bard sang a song of Gofanon's famous exploits, retelling the great tales of the Welshman's youth when the old wizard had fought fearsome Vikings across the sea or battled the marauding English in his native hills. The poet finished with a lengthy account of the great clash at Clontarf, a story which enraptured Godric from the start. Despite this, the jovial nature inherent in feasts was sparse and talk of war dominated the proceedings. Godric soon discovered that the ruler of a minor kingdom called Rhys ap Tewder, a distant Muggle kinsman of Gofanon, was convinced that it was his untrustworthy Norman neighbours who pillaged the land and was now rallying his spears.

The Welsh had every right to treat the opportunistic Marcher Lords with suspicion, for the Norman's would sense the disorder and strife afflicting Wales. Whilst the land burned, Norman barons were mustering their supplies, weapons, and soldiers in anticipation for crossing the border and taking more territory away from their weakened neighbours. Gofanon had been forced to resort to using all his influence to persuade his kinsmen to cease any retaliation they planned until the esteemed wizard had resolved the threat posed by the wizards who marched amongst the raiders.

Once the formal traditions were over and the feast began in earnest, Godric was quickly introduced to Gofanon's many followers. He smiled politely, unable to keep up with all the strange names and long lineages he was told. However, one young man stood out amongst his companions and after briefly glancing indifferently at Godric's friends, clasped hands with the young knight. Godric frowned as he felt the grip on his hand tighten slightly, but chose not to comment on it.

'I've heard of you, Gryffindor,' the brash Welshman said, 'my name is Owain ap Cadwgan, but my kinsmen call me Efnysien. Are you looking forward to the campaign?'

'Does anyone look forward to war?' Godric replied cautiously.

'I do,' Efnysien said haughtily, 'I can't wait for it. I've spent half my life dreaming of using my wand on the Normans and now I have the chance. I'm widely considered to be the best young warrior in these hills. Perhaps you'll be willing to test your skill against me in the tiltyard before we ride out?'

'Godric will have better things to do than play at war, Owain,' an amused voice snorted mockingly and Godric smiled as he saw golden-haired Helga slipping through the bustling crowd towards them.

'This doesn't concern you, Hufflepuff,' Efnysien grumbled, scowling at the young witch.

'You don't concern yourself with anything other than fighting,' Helga scoffed, 'besides, Godric has duelled real killers. What need is there for him to spar against a man whose most famous exploit comes from chasing cattle-raiders through the valleys?'

'I like her,' Isobel the Enchantress whispered to a smiling Salazar as a red-faced Efnysien huffed in indignation and made a swift retreat. Helga smirked as she watched him go, before turning to greet her friends. When her smile vanished as her gaze fell on them, the three knights of Avalon should have realised that Helga was deeply disgruntled and was in an unforgiving mood.

Godric greeted her warmly, noticing how she appeared to have grown slightly in their time apart. However, his good humour did not last long, for the young witch almost immediately jinxed him and closely followed the deed by doing the same to Hamon, enraged that they had not responded to the messages she had sent them. Even after the two knights had resorted to begging her to remove the spell, Helga stubbornly refused to relieve them and only Alain's amused intervention enabled Godric and Hamon to sit in their saddles free of discomfort.

Helga's displeasure was not only stirred by their lack of correspondence. Her great-grandfather had firmly refused her pleas to be allowed to join them on the imminent campaign. Like Rowena, Helga was envious of her friends for becoming knighted wizards so they could ride to war. However, she was not as discreet as Rowena when it came to masking her frustrations at being told that battle was no place for a fourteen-year-old girl. Helga angrily decried a woman's lot in a hall ruled by men and when Salazar foolishly laughed at her, he instantly regretted it as he joined his unfortunate companions in being jinxed. Godric suspected that Helga's anger may have also been influenced by the frequent and unchaste couplings practiced by Salazar and Isobel the Enchantress, who had been quick to consummate their mutual attraction on the road to Mynydd-y-ser. Nevertheless, knowing that Helga would vigorously deny it, Godric wisely held his tongue out of fear of being jinxed again.

They spent two days in Mynydd-y-ser; two blissful days spent exploring the warm valley and all its wonders. Godric and his friends were granted permission to sleep on the highest platform of Taliesin's tall dream tower under the twinkling stars, a gift bestowed upon only the most fortunate off wizards. The famous pupil of Merlin had built the tower as a way to escape the many troubles which blighted his world, although all Godric did was sleep, drifting off to the distant roars and howls of trolls battling wolves in their mountain tunnels.

Furthermore, after Helga's frosty reception had thawed slightly, the young witch was keen to show her companions how to race through the expansive network of treetop dens and rope bridges which encircled Mynydd-y-ser. These adventures were eventually cut short when Lancel the Valiant fell from a platform during a race and was only saved from shattering his skull by Salazar's hastily cast levitation charm. They played like children in a place imbued with innocence, although they never forgot that the surrounding valleys burned and Hugh Troll-Bane still drilled them ruthlessly every morning, too much grumbling from a livid Amalric Black.

Alas, all dreams must end.

On their second night in Mynydd-y-ser, Gofanon rose from his high seat and delivered a short speech, raising his gilded cup to the heavens and saluting the oath they had all taken on Ynys Mon.

'To honour and friendship,' the aged wizard cried and the guests mirrored their host before the feast continued. Yet, their bond of fellowship was almost undone the very next day when Black discovered one of Helga's kneazles in his saddlebags. The regal wizard had already been disgusted with having to share his lodgings with pests and seeing his most prized, gold-laced travelling cloak torn to shreds by the creature's teeth and claws sparked his rage. Black ruthlessly killed the beast with a single curse.

When she heard the news, Helga's fury was great. The young witch had a name for every creature in Mynydd-y-ser and only a stern warning from her great-grandfather stopped the incident from escalating to blows. Helga was indignant when Black went unpunished, for the wizards smirk did nothing to ease the tension and ensure that Hamon had a welcome ally in his dislike of Black. Godric couldn't help but pity Black, remembering how Edwin the Firebrand had suffered when he had roused Helga's anger. When Helga's rage was stirred, then trouble was never far away.

Despite Helga's dissatisfaction at being left behind with the young, elderly and infirm, Gofanon refused to change his mind and it culminated in a rare argument between the two. Tired of Helga's frustrations becoming increasingly more vocal, Gofanon reprimanded the young girl sharply before all the gathered host of wizard's and warriors. Faced with her great-grandfather's wrath, Helga was stunned by the public rebuke, as were many of the kinsmen who had never seen the old wizard treat Helga so sternly. Helga stormed away, struggling to hide her emotions as she blinked away the tears which threatened to overwhelm her.

Regardless of Salazar's warning, Godric chose to follow and console his hurting friend. In recent months, he had proven adept at listening to the woes of his friends and he felt confident in his ability to do the same for the proud golden-haired witch. After all, he could understand her frustrations, remembering a time when his own despair had overwhelmed him after being forced to watch Alain ride to war whilst being unable to follow him.

However, he quickly wished he hadn't bothered. Godric found Helga sat on a boulder overlooking the brook as it twisted down the valley past Mynydd-y-ser. Godric knew that Helga shared the same blood as a great line of warriors, for many of their exploits were displayed all over the hall and her brother was a member of the revered Order of Merlin. Yet, because she was not born a man, the same fire which flowed in the blood of warriors like Godric and burned just as brightly in Helga had gone without nurturing. Godric remembered experiencing a similar bitterness, although he was uneasily aware of the arrogance Helga possessed and the anxieties Rowena had confided in him about it. He only hoped that the Welsh girl's hubris would not be her downfall.

'Helga,' he began after settling down beside her, 'I can understand why you're frustrated…'

'What are you doing?' Helga bluntly interrupted him, taken aback by his presence and looking incredulous.

'Err?' Godric stared back blankly, instantly regretting his decision.

'We're not doing this,' Helga replied firmly,

'Doing what?'

'Whatever this is,' Helga snorted, shaking her head in exasperation even as her eyes shone with amusement, 'I don't need a shoulder to cry on or a great knight to rescue me. I merely let my frustrations get the better of me. My great-grandfather's anger with me will not last and by the time I return to the hall he will already have forgiven my outburst.'

Godric blinked dumbly,

'I just thought…'

'And as noble as you're being Godric,' Helga held up a hand to stop him, 'it's really not needed. Save such chivalry for Rowena. She's foolish enough to fill her head with songs of love and valiant heroes.'

'Bloody Merlin,' Godric mumbled, your a cynical creature. Do you not believe in such things?'

'I've spent enough time in the company of men to know differently. Besides, most men are fools. We both know all men like Owain ap Cadwgan have hearts fuelled by petty jealousies or yearn for blood-sport. Others are like Salazar, who tend to think with their pricks…'

'Helga!' Godric exclaimed, scandalised by the young witch's use of such bawdy language.

'Oh, don't be such a nun, Godric,' Helga retorted, 'I've grown up surrounded by vulgar men. I must know at least a dozen songs by heart which sing of lust and lovemaking.'

Godric knew that Salazar was no fool and had realised that whatever arrangement his friend had orchestrated with the Enchantress was not founded on anything deeper than a mutual attraction and the passions of youth. The young knight wondered to what extent Helga had let bitterness and pride cloud her judgment, for she had only exchanged catty remarks with the pair since their arrival. He certainly suspected that she held stronger feelings for Salazar than she would ever be willing to admit. Perhaps her dreams were filled with heroic knights who more often than not took Salazar's image. Godric squirmed slightly, for having suffered from Helga's jinxes he dared not probe further. He blinked, suddenly realising that Helga had continued speaking, 'besides, not everyone can be as virtuous as Godric Gryffindor. It's probably why Rowena's besotted with you.'

'Wait,' Godric spluttered in shock, 'she's what?'

'Nothing,' Helga smirked innocently before her eyes narrowed dangerously and she prodded him in his chest, 'just remember that if you hurt my friend then there will be a curse waiting for you!'

'We're not here to talk about me,' Godric gulped, blushing furiously and trying not to concentrate on the ridiculousness of a fae-knight being threatened by a young girl and actually being intimidated by it.

'Well,' Helga chuckled, 'we're certainly not talking about me and the way you two dance around each other is far more entertaining. Tell me, have you kissed her yet?'

'I'm never helping you again,' Godric grunted indignantly, nursing his own bruised pride.

'Oh, you're no fun,' Helga smirked mischievously, knowing Godric was hating every moment whilst she enjoyed it immensely, 'maybe you are the perfect choice for Rowena.'

In the end, Helga did not come with them. However, the matter was only concluded when the young witch was discovered preparing a horse for war on the eve and dressed in the guise of a warrior, hoping that her presence would remain unnoticed until they were far beyond the boundaries of Mynydd-y-ser. Helga, looking ridiculous in the ill-fitting armour, was hauled before her furious great-grandfather. Alain, Godric noted from his position at the hall's edge, had to mask his amusement at Helga's daring behind a discreetly raised hand.

Helga kept her head held high as her great-grandfather scolded her loudly before the entire household. Nevertheless, whilst her courage and pride impressed some, others looked troubled by her stubborn refusal to abide by Gofanon's orders.

'More arrogance than sense,' Godric heard Cadwgan whisper to a kinsman as the onlookers watched on. The rebuke ended with Gofanon being wracked by another coughing fit from the old wizard, a habit which was becoming all too frequent since their arrival. Godric would have gone with Helga when she was excused, but after she had mocked him the last time he'd tried to console her, it was left to Salazar to comfort the young witch. When Salazar returned soon after, looking furious and with the remnants of a hex fading from his blistering cheek, it was clear that Helga wanted to brood in solitude.

Godric didn't think Helga's dream of marching to war was such a far-fetched ambition. Witches were far more likely to be accepted into bands of warriors than their Muggle counterparts. Helga's own mother had died fighting in battle and her familial namesake had been a famous raider. The first Helga on Mynydd-y-ser had been a Norse Shieldmaiden whose wand had ravaged the coasts of the Irish Sea until she famously duelled against a wizard of Taliesin's bloodline. Held to a stalemate and impressed by her opponent's courage, the Shieldmaiden married the wizard and came to rule Mynydd-y-ser, although legend said she never forsook her warlike ways. Godric had seen the Shieldmaiden's exploits engraved on the hall's walls and could understand the motivations behind his friend's courage.

However, Helga did not try to persuade her great-grandfather again, for a council of war was held and the roads they would have taken were chosen for them.

Gofanon's spies, including the unruly Efnysien, a man Godric judged to be a hothead whose fiery reputation amongst his Welsh brethren had led to being given a byname with links to a famous warrior from Welsh legend. The young wizard and his fellow spies reported that many of the raiders who burned his homeland were mercenaries hired from across the Channel, but no one knew who led them or for what purpose they had come to Wales. These hired swords and wands were brave men who often travelled dangerous roads, but the wanton brutality they had distributed to the people who crossed their paths was strange even for hardened fighters. Only Efnysien dared to voice Robert of Bellême's name, but Alain tiredly reiterated that the dreaded fae-knight was currently besieging rebels in Normandy.

Efnysien returned from his mission splattered with blood, which he made an effort to tell Godric came from an enemy scout he had ambushed and butchered. Efnysien's desire to pursue a rivalry with Godric since the moment the two young men met and had left Godric bemused and irritated. It was Isobel the Enchantress who explained to Godric that many of the young wizards assembling for the war were jealous of the young knight's burgeoning reputation and sought to exceed it. Wary of quarrelling with the Welshman, Godric tactfully ignored Efnysien's boasts about the encounter. However, Salazar could not resist loudly pointing out that taking a prisoner for questioning would have been more useful than splitting the man's skull. Ridiculed and laughed at by those who overheard them, Efnysien ignored Salazar existence after the insult.

It was Gawain who brought them their first prisoner of the campaign, having rushed across hazardous terrain to reveal that the smallest of the raiding parties was less than a day's ride from Mynydd-y-ser. The wands of an enemy warband had not been permitted to enter Mynydd-y-ser's golden valley since the days of Helga's most warlike ancestor, Afaon ap Taliesin, and Gofanon was loathed to allow it to happen in his lifetime. Ignoring Black's call for caution, they rode out as a single mighty warband, their weapons glistening in the spring sunshine as their banners fluttered high above them on tall lances.

Godric had experienced war before. He had taken two lives and watched a friend in agony. Yet, despite the wisdom in approaching cautiously, Godric could not resist the temptation to throw himself into the practice of warfare with a naïve vigour. He was restless to be on the road and glad to leave Mynydd-y-ser, which for all its charm and wonder, had been a frustrating experience. Godric had quickly wearied of avoiding encouraging of Efnysien's misplaced rivalry, whilst the company of Black and the excitable Aidan Scatter-Brain had become tiresome before they'd even set out from Avalon. Now, the young knight simply wished to escape the confines of the magical valley to bring the battle to the enemy and he grinned as they rode out of Mynydd-y-ser to the sound of Hamon's howling war cry.

Surprisingly, it was by pure chance that the two forces met. Godric would vividly remember the opening moments of that first battle for the rest of his life. Godric considered it a battle, despite being told by Hugh that it was nothing more than a glorified skirmish which paled in comparison to some of the battles he had participated in. Yet, blood was spilled and many men died and in Godric's mind, the brief encounter was far fiercer than his mentor claimed.

Godric was on foot when the fight broke out, leading Llamrei over a wooded path towards a mist strewn glade as the first sounds of clashing swords and crackling spells reached his ears as the scouts from either warband stumbled upon each other. He was faintly aware of the hiss of blades sliding free from their scabbards and shouts of alarmed and dying men as he tore his own sword loose and with a loud crack, apparated to the front of their marching column. Reappearing at the edge of the treeline, Godric didn't linger to take his bearings before thundering into the glade. Others ran with him, sprinting towards the fray where Godric saw men fighting savagely. More raiders were appearing beyond them, charging across the grass and shouting war cries. An arrow thudded into a tree beside Godric, but he ignored it. In his haste to reach the fight, the young knight had left his shield strapped to his horse's saddle, so clutching his wand as he ran, Godric roared a challenge which was lost amongst the screams and thunder of charging hooves and leaped to confront his first opponent.

They won the battle, although Godric had little memory of it once he joined the melee. He was told afterward that he had outrun all his comrades, driven by a violent madness and a desire to be the first warrior to reinforce his comrades. Once the battle-haze had cleared, Godric discovered that he had killed two men and wounded a third, before briefly engaging a wild-looking brute many men recognised as the wizard Muggle-Bane and the alleged leader of this particular raiding party.

Their fight was fierce but short-lived, both combatants exchanging a flurry of spells and curses until the press of bodies forced them apart as the raiders, quickly becoming outnumbered and overwhelmed, broke and fled for the woods. Muggle-Bane limped away with a deep wound to his arm but managed to escape with his life, leaving Godric miraculously unscathed. Many of the raiders were not so fortunate and were ridden down by the unyielding natives on their sturdy ponies. Hamon rode amongst them, his warhorse out striding many of the humbler Welsh mounts as he rode through the bloodied clearing and won his spurs by killing his first man.

A mounted rider darted forward in a bold but foolhardy attempt to cover the rout, levelling his lance at Hamon and spurring into an attack. But the son of Hugh Troll-Bane was equal to his challenger and the sound of their clash echoed across the glade. Hamon rode away with his life intact and a deep gash hewed from his shield, whilst his component dropped to the dewy earth, gasping his last breaths with the tip of Hamon's splintered lance protruding from the remnants of his mangled chest.

However, when the sound of battle slowly petered out, Hamon reacted with tears and vomit, unable to comprehend that he had taken his first life. Hugh, who had spent year's tactfully avoiding overt acts of parental responsibility, took his son aside and held him in his arms as they talked in hushed whispers until the young knight's tears had dried. Godric had watched on with a fond smile, for Hugh's pride in his son's achievement was obvious to everyone.

Godric distinguished himself by fighting well and his bravery was acknowledged with pride and admiration by his companions. This came as no surprise to those who had witnessed his trial by battle against Killer-Bjorn, but those who hadn't were shocked at how such a humble young man could fight with such a sobering ferocity. Moreover, his bravery did not need the influence of ale to embolden him, unlike many other soldiers who depended on potent mead to summon their courage. Godric flushed as wizards and warriors with far more experience of battle heaped praise upon him. Only Black and Efnysien chuntered that other men had fought well also, but even their distaste seemed subdued in the shadow of the reputation Godric was swiftly acquiring.

Salazar did not slay an enemy during the brief fight. He had been walking at the back of the company to that he could talk with Lancel and Isobel when the sound of the conflict reached them. When they finally apparated into the glade, they arrived to see the last of the raiders retreating into the mists and a battle already won.

In the aftermath of the fight, it was decided that their warband would split into two parties. Gofanon would lead over two scores of men to hunt down the smaller of the remaining raiding parties, whilst the Lord of Avalon, the most capable military leader amongst them, would take a smaller band of fast-moving and experienced warriors.

Godric breathed a sigh of relief when Aidan Scatter-Brain and Black decided to join Gofanon's contingent. Black was quick to claim that he'd killed a wizard during the battle, but Godric had not seen him near the melee where men screamed, fought and died. In contrast, Aidan Scatter-Brain had been eager to reach the battle, but his rented horse proved to be easily spooked and threw him in the Scottish wizards rush to join the fray. Magic could easily heal his broken ankle, but regardless of Aidan's complaints, it was decided that Scatter-Brain would be best kept away from where the fighting would be fiercest because his foolishness may do more harm than good. Black would accompany him, a choice Godric suspected was inspired by cowardice more than any pursuit of glory he'd achieve by following Alain, who it was reckoned would face the harder fight. Many of the young hotheads amongst them chose to join Alain, including Dewa Swift-wand, Efnysien and the Bretons, sensing that more opportunities for glory beckoned by following the Lord of Avalon's banner.

It took Alain a week to hunt down the larger warband and Godric lost count of the amount of tortured corpses they stumbled upon or the skeletal remains of charred and smoking homesteads they wandered across. Godric's mind wandered back to his youthful dreams of riding to war. Alain had once warned his nephew that fighting for your life in the chaos of battle was an exhilarating experience which over time became like an addiction and riding through the Welsh valleys, Godric began to feel a hunger for the sensation stirring in his heart. The young knight enjoyed life on campaign, from the camaraderie shared between soldiers to the inherent dangers hiding behind every knoll and river bend. Godric lived for the thrill of it and in his ignorance of much of life's pleasures, he could have sworn that no sensation could ever rival the euphoria which set his blood ablaze when he defeated an opponent. Godric was tall, strong and a fae-knight with a desire to carve his own name into the annals of history and they all influenced his growing thirst for battle.

War changes men. Even in Alain, his beloved uncle and the fairest man Godric knew, seemed to be returning to the man who had led the King's armies north to do battle against the Siedr. Regardless of his initial aversion to Gofanon's call for aid, the Lord of Avalon could not fully mask his relish for campaigning. Indeed, his need for battle was fuelled by the barbarity of the raiders they pursued. The plight of the Welsh people drove them on, as did the memories of what the natives had suffered. Godric spent restless nights plagued by the image of a child he had found in one smoking ruin, her life taken by a spear even when her small hand still clasped the fingers of the father who had met a similar fate beside her. These sights only angered them further and encouraged Alain's followers to distribute justice to those responsible for the bloodshed.

They were also strange days. It was a gloomy and frustrating time, chasing an elusive enemy whilst being beset with swarms of biting flies and tempers soon became frayed. Alain was a good leader of men and adept at bringing petty squabbles to an end, whilst the humour of men like Bayard and Hamon kept the company frequently entertained.

Yet, it could not completely vanquish the paranoia of men at war and even Godric became susceptible to the tricks nagging nerves played on his mind. One night, when he had volunteered for sentry duty, he had been sure he'd glimpsed the cloaked figure of a woman floating through the mist strewn trees. Only when he had roused his comrades and found nothing after a vigorous search was it was it agreed that the disappearing woman must have been either a native refuge who daren't approach the armed men or a marauding spirit.

'You need sleep,' Alain advised sympathetically, silencing Godric's protests and forcing him to give up the rest of his sentry duty to the more alert Isolde. However, after a few hours of disturbed sleep, another incident struck him whilst he washed the grime off his face in a nearby stream. He'd caught a glimpse of his reflection in the flowing water and had almost fallen in at the eerie resemblance between the blood splattered warrior looking out from the water and the spectre who had spent years haunting him. It may not have been enough to cool Godric's growing thirst for battle, but it dampened his enjoyment of campaigning.

Moving on from the tempest of emotions which had consumed him following his first kill, Hamon joined Godric in relishing the campaign life and was barely recognisable as Avalon's resident glutton who was just as notorious for his vast appetite and fondness for naps as his prowess with a lance. Salazar alone did not excel in a martial environment. The older wizard was a gifted orator with a sharp mind for strategy and an incredibly fast wand hand. But Godric knew that Salazar treated the brutal side of warfare, from rain-soaked marches to the bloodshed of battle, with a fastidious distaste which was mocked by many, including his current lover.

However, Salazar was forced to embrace the darker aspects of his nature. Whilst the warband rested their weary mounts, Salazar wandered alone into the undergrowth to relieve his aching bladder and there, amongst the thorns and nettles, he blundered upon a forager. Alain had been stalking a raiding party who had left a bloodied trail through the valleys, forcing his band to march through the night in an effort to catch them and now, as dawn's first light seeped through the trees, the Lord of Avalon's wish was fulfilled.

'SHI-,' a shout began to rise from the bushes before it was sharply cut off. But it was loud enough for Alain's company to hear. It was Lancel the Valiant who had the quick wits to respond to the struggle first and Godric was amongst the crowd who rushed to help his embattled friend.

Only to discover that his help was not needed, for Salazar lay slumped beside a twitching figure who gargled pitifully as he attempted to stem the blood flowing from his slit throat until, with a last desperate rasp, his efforts waned and finally ceased.

Drenched in the blood he'd spilled, Salazar was hauled to his feet and asked to tell his companions about what had happened. Surprisingly, Salazar resisted the urge to embellish the tale, merely informing his comrades of how both men froze in astonishment at their sudden meeting. Then the raider drew his sword and opened his mouth to raise the alarm. Thinking fast, Salazar immediately cast a silencing charm, hindering the man's attempt to call for aid. Swiftly realising the futility of shouting now that he was fighting a spell-caster, the raider resorted to skewering Salazar with a thrust of his sword, only for the wizard to turn aside from the blade and with a flick of his hand, hurl a cutting curse across the man's throat at the same moment the raider tackled him.

'I had no time to interrogate him, Lord,' Salazar confessed, breathing heavily at the sudden bout of exertion. Alain didn't say anything, but the smile he bestowed upon his former apprentice radiated with pride.

Salazar was heartily congratulated for his victory as Alain ordered several followers to scout the woods for any more foragers lurking in the trees, where it was determined that offshoots of a larger warband were raiding and pillaging for supplies and food. Godric was the last to leave, inconspicuously watching Salazar's response to taking a life. The wizard neither wept like Hamon nor showed any inkling of the remorse which had plagued Godric for months afterward. Instead, Salazar had a strange expression on his face, as if he had just rediscovered a once familiar feeling. The hollow look in his friend's eyes unnerved Godric.

'The wand always wins,' Salazar joked lamely, a reminder of the undying argument the company had been embroiled in since the campaign began about which weapons were greater than a wand. Godric curbed his curiosity, deciding that a military campaign was not the time to probe into their pasts. Instead, he joined their companions in praising Salazar's feat, provoking a weak smile and a pleased blush from his friend.

'A compliment from the famous Godric Gryffindor,' Salazar smiled cheekily, 'another one like that and you'll make me blush.'

Before Godric could respond by cuffing his blood-stained friend around the head, Gawain emerged from the trees. Heads turned as he marched by until he reached the Lord of Avalon, where he told him to listen and pointed west. At first, nothing but the rustle of leaves caught in the breeze and the calls of wild beasts could be heard. However, after Efnysien grumbled loudly and was almost impaled by an arrow for his troubles, Gawain once again jabbed his bow to the west and encouraged his companions to strain their ears. Following his wild friend's lead, Godric listened to the wind and finally caught a trace of the screams, shouts, and ringing of clashing blades which had caused the wild Welshman to return to the Lord of Avalon.

Not since departing from Mynydd-y-ser had Alain smiled as widely as he did in the moment they learned of their enemies' whereabouts. The raiders had most likely found a new victim to terrorise, ignorant of the vengeful warband prowling closer. When the Lord of Avalon's gaze met Hugh Troll-Banes, they shared a satisfaction they had experienced on countless battlefields, mirroring an eagerness to engage the raiders that all their companions shared after a week of hard campaigning.

'They're close…'

* * *

The first of many, many chapters to come over the next week. Hope you enjoy!


	33. Thirty-Two: Fell Deeds

**Fell Deeds**

The raiders came at dawn. The sun had barely scaled the high hills when the soldiers had sprung from their hiding places amongst the nearby thickets, howling madly as they burst out with their weapons glinting in the cold sunlight and brought terror to the defenceless villagers.

Bran remembered little of what happened next. He was only a small boy, neither strong nor old enough to join the few men who had tried to resist. But tools were no match for swords and mounted warriors armed with long spears had cut off any possible retreat. Bran had made to run after his father and brothers, but his mother had held him back and thrown him to his sisters. He was too young, she had screamed at him as the raiders descended upon them. Bran noticed that some carried wooden sticks which shot bright lights like flaming arrows. One ball of light had struck his father, flinging the thickset man unceremoniously to the ground. He didn't rise again. Bran's brothers had also died, mercilessly cut down and their corpses left to rot in pools of blood. His mother and sisters had been rounded up with the other women of the village and taken behind one of the homesteads, where they became the victims of the lust of violent men. Their screams had turned to whimpers before finally falling abruptly silent.

Bran stood with the other children huddled in the centre of the village, who had been forced to watch the violence unfold. The elderly and infirm were killed, their corpses spreading fear into the hearts of the assembled children. Traumatised by the stench of blood and filth, most of the children cried piteously for parents who could no longer answer before being beaten into silence by those who had captured them. Bran alone did not cry, even when his favourite puppy, a close companion of the young boy for many months, was ripped from his arms. Panicked by the massacre, the dog had bitten out at the man who held it and with an angry yelp, the raider flung it to the ground and thrust down with a sword to put an end to its desperate efforts.

Even when the laughter of the raiders and the screams of his dying family rang around him, Bran did not weep. He had heard enough tales from the village elders about ancient warriors to know that heroes did not cry in the face of their enemies and no tears stained his grubby cheeks as his reddening eyes glared hatefully at the brutes who had brought death to the peaceful valley.

His solitary defiance did not go unnoticed. A mounted warrior cantered towards them until he towered over the cowering children. He lowered his spear and used the bloody weapon to tip Bran's head up, causing the boy to flinch when he felt the sting of sharpened steel slicing his chin. Bran looked into the warrior's bearded face and refused to look away as the man smiled at the hate which shone in the young boy's eyes and prepared to extinguish it forever.

The roar of a horn calling from the woods echoed over the ruins of the village.

The mounted man paused, frowning as the sound of encroaching thunder rose up from behind them. The warrior turned to see what had disturbed them and Bran's gaze widened in astonishment when he saw another mounted figure charging towards them, his armour and lance glistening in the pale sun. There was only enough time for their jaws to drop in shock before the warrior reached them.

The lance skewered the raider before he could even attempt to avoid it, plunging through the man in a shower of blood and tearing him from the saddle with a great, breathless gasp. His killer surged passed, reeling around so that his horse stood between the children and the dying raider's alarmed comrades, whilst an astonished Bran glimpsed a rampant golden lion on a bloody field shining resplendently upon the warrior's shield. Shouts rose from the treeline, for Bran's rescuer was not alone and his comrades were bursting from the woods and charging towards the pillaged homesteads on horseback and foot. The raider's cried out in alarm at the sudden shift in fortune, panicked roars which became even louder when a mounted knight galloped into the fray, the great banner of Avalon fluttering behind him as Alain Greycloak came to kill them.

The children immediately scattered, seeking an escape from the fight breaking out around them. Only Bran remained frozen in place, staring at the scarlet clad warrior as he dismounted and lifted the rampant lion shield as a bright light exploded in a cascade of burning sparks over it, leaving him unscathed. When the warrior turned, Bran found himself facing the helmeted head of Godric Gryffindor.

Godric's smile was fiendish,

'I'm a friend,' he winked beneath his helm, before drawing his wand and waving it through the air. Bran gasped as discarded rocks and the wood from burning homesteads began to shift and spring to life, flying past them until a giant figure stood before them, looking ready to join the fray. The golem stepped close to Godric and Bran, using its bulk to block spells and parrying an arrow harmlessly aside with its large limbs.

'Hold this,' Godric said, unstrapping the shield straps from his arm and passing it to Bran, who took it hesitantly, visibly struggling with the weight of the large and cumbersome shield. Immediately, two spells collided with it, almost sending Bran tumbling. Twisting around to face the rallying enemy, Godric saw two wizards hurling spells in their direction. By the time Bran had nervously scrambled up from his hiding place, the knight was gone, roaring a fearsome war cry as he ran to meet the oncoming enemy.

Godric sprinted towards the two men, releasing his sword with a hiss as he went. The golem out strode its conjurer and absorbed the spells which were fired at Godric. Then, when only a few yards separated them, Godric and the golem parted, each aiming for a chosen victim. Unburdened of its defensive duties, the golem sprang into the attack and leaped at one of the wizards, who stopped it in its tracks with a spell which blew the figure apart in a cloud of dust and splinters, engulfing the wizard who destroyed it.

Godric ignored the golem's fate. He deflected a spell with his sword and retaliated with a bludgeoning hex that struck his opponents knee with bone-cracking force. The wizard screamed, dropping his wand as his crippled knee collapsed and Godric's sword hacked out. The lifeless body splattered the earth with blood as the dead wizard's companion emerged retching from the blinding dust. He was given no chance to recover, for Godric spell flung the man from his feet before his vision had cleared and brought him crashing down in a crumpled heap. For a brief moment, Godric revelled in his victory and smiled in satisfaction.

It would have been his undoing if Bran's warning hadn't shaken him from his lapse in focus. Hearing the cry, Godric instinctively dived to the ground, narrowly avoiding a falling axe which threatened to decapitate him. Twisting agilely to the side, Godric rolled to his feet, his own sword whirling to counter his opponent's sudden attack. Both men grunted as Godric's sword met the falling axe and locked together, testing their strength in a struggle to overpower the other.

A spell ended the fight. It came out of nowhere, striking the raider's side and tearing both armour and flesh asunder. His strength rapidly failing, the raider tried one last time to strike Godric before his legs crumpled beneath him and the heavy axe fell from nerveless fingers. He collapsed, surrounded by the spell's still crackling residue whilst Godric, breathing heavily from the burst of exertion, discovered Salazar striding towards him. His tunic was still stained with the blood of the forager he had recently killed, but he was wearing a smug smile as he approached.

'You're not immortal yet,' the older wizard mocked him. The battle was almost over. The raiders, shocked by the sudden appearance of an enemy warband, had offered little resistance before breaking for the woods. A dozen mounted knights pursued them, led by Hugh Troll-Bane, who rode beside his son and wetted his sword in the blood of the routed enemy. Godric saw Hamon, his lance abandoned in a man's guts, draw his sword gracefully and open a raider's skull with one backhanded stroke after the desperate man threatened Hugh with a spear.

'Let no one get away,' Alain's cry reached the ears of all his followers, repeating an order he'd issued before the ambush had begun. None of the raiders would be allowed to escape so that they could warn their own comrades.

Yet, one raider managed to scramble away from the chaos. Grabbing hold of a horse whose rider had been killed by a well-aimed spell, he swung his body into the saddle and kicked the beast in an attempt to escape the bloodshed. His bold bid for freedom took him past Godric and Salazar and the latter sent a spell at the raider's retreating back but cursed when the flaming ball of light whipped harmlessly past the man's shoulder. Sensing that safety was near, the raider whooped in short-lived exuberance before a large arrow ended his hopes. The shaft tore into the fleeing raider's side, lodging in between his ribs as it took his life and sent him toppling from the saddle. Gawain turned to face the two wizards with a feral grin before he raised his hand in a two fingered salute to them. Then he moved on, pulling another arrow from his quiver and scanning the village for a new victim.

Salazar looked very disgruntled by Gawain's prowess,

'Bastard,' he growled sourly at the Welsh archer's antics and chose to pointedly ignore him. Seeing that their assistance was no longer needed, the two friends approached the unconscious wizard Godric had incapacitated earlier. Yet, whilst blood still dripped from Godric's sword, neither man moved to end the wizard's life.

'We should keep him alive,' Salazar said, answering Godric's unvoiced question, 'Alain will want to question him.' He stepped on the raider's wand and it released a hiss as Salazar snapped it beneath his boot, 'besides, he's a wizard. We should give him a chance to plead why he should keep his life.'

'Salazar,' as if the Lord of Avalon had been listening to their conversation, Alain beckoned Salazar to join them. Six battered and beaten raiders already knelt beside him with their heads bowed, the swords and wands of the Lord of Avalon's followers levelled their way. Alain's expression was grim, resembling a lord of war in bloodied battle gear as he prepared to interrogate their prisoners.

Salazar nodded to his friend, before striding over to Alain and using a spell to drag the unconscious wizard behind him, leaving Godric alone. The young knight shrugged and returned to the small boy he had left hiding behind his shield. Bran, having stayed hidden beneath the shields protective bulk, was staring at him in awe. Godric smiled reassuringly,

'Thanks for guarding my shield,' he told Bran in the boy's native Welsh as he took the shield back and slung over his shoulder, 'now, do you have family here? A father or mother?'

Bran stared at him blankly, before looking away and pointing towards the lifeless corpse which had once been his father. Godric's smile instantly disappeared.

'And your mother?' Bran's hand moved towards one of the homesteads where many of the village's women had been herded. Frowning, Godric patted the boy's shoulder but did not steer the boy in the direction he had indicated. Fortunately, the way was barred by a pale-faced Hamon. The Muggle gave Godric a one-armed embrace, as his other hand was occupied with his horse's reins.

'Where are you taking this one,' Hamon asked, glancing curiously at Bran and looking concerned,

'He's a survivor,' Godric explained, speaking in French, a language Bran could not understand, 'his father is dead and the rest of his family most likely with him. The lad told me he last saw the raiders leading his mother this way…'

'No,' Hamon shook his head, discouraging the venture, 'you can't take him back there.'

They had seen enough massacres since entering the Welsh hills to know what had happened to Bran's female kin.

'All of them?'

'All' Hamon confirmed, 'the raiders put them to the sword as soon as we appeared. Most of the bastards responsible are dead now. Isolde and the Enchantress saw to that.'

'Good,' Godric growled sourly, approving of the retribution distributed to the raiders. He looked at Bran and noticed that the boy had begun to fidget nervously, having sensed that something was wrong. Godric was momentarily at a loss when he saw tears begin to well in the boys, but it came as no surprise that the good-natured Hamon knew exactly what to do. He ruffled Bran's hair and asked him in what little Welsh he could speak if the boy would like to help see to his horse. After a brief pause and a swipe of his reddening eyes, the young boy sniffed loudly and nodded. He followed Hamon without complaint and Godric knew his friend would be compassionate when he gave Bran the dreaded news.

Godric sighed, then bent low and cleaned the blood off his sword with a clump of earth. As he crouched, he caught sight of the first man he had killed. The raider's face was contorted in agony, his unseeing eyes staring blindly out and still looking surprised at being impaled by a heavy lance. Once such a sight, combined with the knowledge that he had been responsible for the raider's suffering, would have plagued Godric's mind for many days. However, Godric soon discovered that he felt numb when faced with the violence of war, a consequence of his time riding through the valleys of war-torn Wales under the Lord of Avalon's banner.

Only a week had passed since they had left the tranquil peace of Mynydd-y-ser and a fortnight since Godric had feasted with Rowena in Avalon's great hall. Despite this, the young knight was already suffering from the fatigue which sapped men's strength. He rubbed at tired eyes and stared out over the destruction done to the men, women, and children who had once inhabited the burning village. Godric couldn't help but feel as if the songs which had enraptured him as a child had lied, for surely no glory could be found in pillaging the innocent.

'Godric?'

The young knight blinked, startled to find himself suddenly drawn from his memories. Returning to the present, he found Ancel staring at him quizzically.

'What is it?'

'Here, we've been ordered to move out,' Ancel shrugged, holding out the Llamrei's reins for Godric to take, before gesturing to where eight men and kicked out helplessly as they were dragged away, 'Lord Alain has finished interrogating the prisoners.'

Godric nodded absentmindedly. Quickly scanning his horse for injuries, he was pleased to discover that Llamrei had escaped the fight unhurt. Mounting the warhorse, Godric trotted over to where Salazar was climbing into his own saddle.

'What's going on?' Godric asked his friend, pointing at the struggling prisoners.

'The warband we've been hunting is less than a day ahead of us,' Salazar replied, 'this was just a foraging party, less than a tenth of their total number judging by what I saw in their minds.'

'Did Alain say what he planned to do with them?' asked Godric lightly, still watching the struggling men.

'They're to be executed,' Salazar shrugged indifferently, 'Alain ordered them to be hung like common felons, even the wizards.'

Godric spun to face his friend, shocked by the news.

'But they're prisoners of war,' Godric spluttered, 'there is no honour in killing prisoners.'

'Exactly,' Salazar retorted, 'we're fighting a war. I regret that it must come to this, but I can't say my heart weeps for them. Look at what they've done. Would you tell the young boy you saved that you would let those who slaughtered his family go free so your honour remains untainted?'

Godric stared at Bran, who had been lifted up so that he now sat behind Hamon, gripping the young knight tightly about the waist the slightest movement from the horse would send him toppling painfully to the earth. His fear distracted him from the argument taking place between Hamon and his father over whether the orphaned boy should be allowed to ride with them or if he should be left with the few survivors who had escaped the raid. It was obvious that Hugh thought his son was mad to allow a child to accompany them, but emboldened by his experiences during the campaign, Hamon resolutely stood his ground until, to their onlooker's surprise, Hugh Troll-Bane backed down with an exasperated growl. Godric watched Bran's face light up when Hamon smugly informed him that he would be allowed to stay with them. It dawned on Godric that he had no response to Salazar's pitiless reasoning.

They stayed amongst the ruins of the village long enough to hang the prisoners. These men were mercenaries, hired killers who risked their lives in the pursuit of riches. Yet, few of them could have imagined that they'd end their lives in these bleak hills. Once all their desperate kicks and choking struggles grew still, Alain's retinue rode on, leaving the corpses of the dead raiders to the mercies of the survivors whose families had been torn apart. Relying on Gawain and his Welsh countrymen to find the trail which would lead them to their prey, Godric pondered over the ruthlessness his uncle had demonstrated and which, as the campaign wore on, was slowly being drawn out of the dark recesses of Alain's soul and becoming a more regular occurrence.

Having been fostered in Avalon under Alain's tutelage, Godric had always seen his uncle as the epitome of a noble and fair lord. However, he often forgot that Alain was a feared warlord, an aspect of his character that was kept well hidden. Yet, the will of iron which enabled Alain to make the difficult choices leaders of men were often forced to make in times of war was emerging. Godric had been born into the world where there was honour in killing a man in battle, but the young knight shuddered at the memory of the prisoners dancing from tree branches. For the first time in his life, Godric found himself questioning the harsh reality of being a knight.

Unfortunately, Godric's unease with the decision to kill the prisoners was not lost upon Alain, who was eventually forced to seek him out and confront his nephew's displeasure.

'You think I should have shown clemency to those men, don't you?' Alain unexpectedly guessed, slowing his grey-coated horse until he rode at Godric's side.

'It's not my place to say, Lord,' Godric replied evasively. He did not want to argue with Alain, especially when his mind felt so muddled.

'Your expression tells a different tale,' Alain persisted, snorting in amusement, 'you need to guard your emotions better, Godric. Your face is far too easy to read when you're upset.'

'I'm sure you're right, Lord,' Godric mumbled in response. Alain glanced at him reproachfully,

'Trust me,' the Lord of Avalon said, 'you know me well enough to understand that I regret the choice I had to make. But I still stand by it. Those men had to die.'

'Did they?'

'Yes,' Alain said harshly and Godric saw a flicker of the feared warrior his uncle was. The warlord's grim gaze met the accusation shining from Godric's eyes squarely, both men proving too stubborn to look away. Surprisingly, it was Alain who turned away first, sighing heavily and running a hand through his horse's mane in an effort to soothe its growing agitation.

'Merlin, I thought you had grown out of this childish belief in chivalry,' Alain muttered impatiently, 'War is not waged like it is in songs Godric, nor is the world split so coherently between good and evil. The world is a brutal pace, made by brutal gods and populated by brutal men, where even the best of us have to resort to dark deeds. Do you think those raiders were being chivalrous when they attacked those villagers? How strong was their dedication to the codes of honour which stop men from raping and killing innocent people?'

Godric didn't answer. He felt foolish being chastised so bluntly, like he was a naïve child, and felt his stomach twist when Alain muttered darkly that he'd prefer it if Godric did not mistake him for some callous warmonger like Sir Robert of Bellême.

'Never, Lord,' Godric looked mortified at the suggestion. This may have been how Alain had earned his fame and fortune and no man could consider the Lord of Avalon meek, but Godric would never believe that his uncle was a wizard like Bellême. Sadly, Alain's career on the battlefield and the devastation inflicted upon the north of England stood as a testament to what Alain would be like if he let the warrior inside him take control.

'Tell me then,' Alain pressed, 'you still have not forgiven your father for the hurt he did to your mother. Despite Edmund's death, I know that you still harbour some bitterness and hate towards the man who sired you. Would you be so willing to treat those men mercifully if it had been Eleanor or Morwenna they had tortured?'

'Lord?' Godric gasped. That was a line of thought he was reluctant to pursue.

'Then what about Helga?' Alain said, ignoring him, 'or the girl with the skill for the Sight…Rowena wasn't it?'

'No,' the young knight snapped, feeling his irritation stirring at Alain's tireless questioning. Alain continued to watch him closely,

'I'm sorry Godric,' he finally said, 'but you are a knight of Avalon and must come to understand the realities of the life you've chosen. What would have stopped those men from returning to warn their comrades, making the battle to come even harder to win? Would you let guilty men live, only for it to cause a feud to break out? The catalyst to a cycle of bloodshed which can only end once one faction has been killed. Why waste more lives on men who forfeited their right to clemency with every life they destroyed.'

The riders continued on in silence, ambling along the small path and idly listening to the chatter of the companions were rode with them.

'I regret that it has come to this,' Alain eventually continued, 'if it was up to me, then we'd still be safe in Avalon and Magical Britain would be at peace, and my sword would still hang from the rafters, covered in dust and cobwebs rather than blood. But such a dream is hopeless. There will always be war, always one last battle to fight before I can hang up my sword. I have lived through the kind of horror and bloodshed which haunts a man for life and I have learned by necessity the need to keep my wand and sword by my side and to never play at war. If a warlord loses his wits, then people get killed…'

'Like Hadrian?' Godric asked. Alain closed his eyes at the memory of Hadrian's death, a good man whose life was his life taken in a moment of complacency on the Lord of Avalon's part. The loyal retainer had been avenged, but it remained a scar which had never truly heal.

'Yes,' Alain agreed, 'like Hadrian. If you are to stand amongst the greatest fae-knights Godric, you must learn to give your heart to the art of war, whether it wallows in the grief you feel for a fallen comrade or is consumed by the battle-haze. Those who cannot do this soon die.'

Godric stared at his uncle, his irritation having long since fled when faced by the melancholy which burdened the Lord of Avalon's heart.

'Do you enjoy it?'

'I wish I didn't,' Alain sighed dejectedly, 'I confess that I've grown used to peace. For so long, I have yearned to be Alain the Fair; the law-maker and peace-giver. But I cannot deny that the warrior lives on and that the killing instinct which has enabled me to survive countless battles has refused to die. If I'm being honest, in times like this I am glad that it didn't and still remains a part of me. A man cannot hide who he is in times of war. I cannot hide; for if I did then all those who follow me would perish.'

'Can I expect to feel this?' Godric asked curiously, unable to dislodge the unease he still felt over the ruthlessness his uncle had displayed. But at least he was starting to understand the motivations behind it.

'Maybe,' Alain shrugged, 'only you can find the answer to that. Besides, hanging those men was a kinder fate than if we'd left them unarmed in the hands of the villagers, for their deaths would have been far crueller. You have the makings of a great leader of men, Godric. Sometimes not all the roads available to us are either easy or right. One day you will face the same choice and may find it harder to resist the impulse to spill the blood of evil men.'

'Enough about war,' Alain swiftly moved on from their sombre discussion, 'I had other motives in seeking you out if you'll listen?'

'Of course, Lord?' Godric nodded inquisitively,

'Then I shall speak plainly,' Alain said, taking a deep breath as he looked shrewdly at his nephew, 'Morwenna wants me to approach Aidan Scatter-Brain in order to arrange a betrothal between you and his daughter…'

Godric gasped in surprise, gaping open mouthed at his uncle as his mount jerked to a sudden stop, almost sending Godric sprawling onto the muddy trail. Alain chuckled at the young knight's reaction,

'Lord?' Godric managed to splutter,

'Morwenna is very taken with young Rowena,' Alain continued, 'she claims that the girl owns all of her family's intelligence whilst lacking her father's infamous foolishness. I learned the value of trusting Morwenna's wisdom many years ago, for she is an excellent judge of character and I trust her completely. Would it be a lie if you told me that you felt nothing for this girl?'

Godric didn't respond, still too overcome with surprise to trust himself to speak. A betrothal to Rowena? His mind turned back to the moment he had watched her dance beside Lughnasadh's fires and he felt his heart flutter at the prospect of marriage to a girl he considered a beautiful and brilliant witch. When Godric slowly lifted his gaze to stare back and refused to deny it, Alain had to strain in order to resist beaming at the silent confirmation.

'I am happy for you,' Alain said proudly, 'and somewhat relieved that you have not been influenced by Salazar and Hamon's illustrious conquests. Morwenna always said you were different from most hot-blooded nobles your age and I was a fool to not believe her. As much as I am not opposed to the match, especially if your heart desires it, I must warn you about the risks of taking that road. Aidan may be a friend, but I fear that he only supports the betrothal because he sees Avalon as an influential ally, a means in which he can recover the wealth he squandered.'

'I realised as much,' Godric admitted,

'Then be wary of him,' Alain advised cautiously, 'Aidan is far more cunning than many wizards realise. Since their public quarrel on Ynys Mon, the Seidr of the Western Isles have sent him a summons to a duel. The Western Islanders are formidable fighters and have waged war in Britain, Ireland and across the Northern Seas for centuries. Their disagreement with Aidan has become a matter of honour and it is a fight that Aidan cannot hope to win himself. But he may look for a wizard to champion him and I fear that after your own exploits on Ynys Mon, Aidan wants Godric Gryffindor to fight for him if he cannot pay them off with the gold in Avalon's coffers.'

'Lord Alain,' someone called from the head of the column, interrupting the two riding companions before Godric could reply. Efnysien was hurrying along the path towards them. He'd been scouting ahead and his cheeks were flushed with exertion, although he was smiling with excitement. The column came to a halt as all the gathered wizards and retainers turned to watch the exchange, for Efnysien had been one of the scouts trusted with locating the elusive warband.

'What is it, Owain ap Cadwgan?'

'We've found them, Lord,' he spluttered breathlessly, his hands on his knees as he sucked in great heaving breaths, 'barely a mile away, Lord, beside the banks of the Taf Fechan.'

'Lead us there,' Alain commanded immediately as the affable landholder was replaced once again by the warrior. Efnysien nodded eagerly before stumbling into a run, the Lord of Avalon following at his heels and calling for his followers to arm themselves for battle.

Efnysien led them to the foot of a small hill, where several long forgotten burial mounds had been raised in the ancient days. Gawain and a few of Efnysien's retainers waited for them, standing idly beside the scene of a massacre. Over a dozen corpses lay strewn across the burial mounds, each of them stripped naked and beheaded. The broken weapons and scraps of ruined armour which had not been taken as spoils of war suggested that the dead had once been Muggle warriors, for Godric's Welsh comrades recognised some of the coat-of-arms as belonging to local lords and kinsmen. It must have been a brief struggle, a short-lived ambush sprung by experienced fighters. Charred flesh and melted armour indicated that many had fallen to dark spells.

Godric scanned the woods which clung to the tall hillside and frowned, seeing no sign of an enemy lurking nearby. Neither did Alain and the Lord of Avalon, glared at Efnysien coldly, believing that the young Welshman had let youthful nerves and excitement get the better of him.

'I see no warband?'

'There, Lord?' Efnysien said, bristling at Alain as he pointed towards the crest of the hill where a line of trees guarded its summit. All eyes followed the Welshman's prompt and looked to where a small trickle of dark cloud rose into the sky, vividly clear alongside its pale brethren. The assembled wizards and warriors gasped at the smoke rising over the hill, for they had finally found their prey.

Gawain led Alain and his followers up the steep hillside until they had scaled the summit. Another corpse greeted them, pierced through the heart by a feathered arrow. Gawain smirked as he pulled the arrow gently from the scout's body, careful not to lose the arrowhead in the dead man's flesh, before checking it for any lasting damage. The archer was running low on arrows, having lost many in skirmishes or hunts and he could scarcely afford to waste another before the battle began. Alain crept past the disinterested Welshman, slipping onto his stomach and crawling behind a weathered boulder, from where he could claim a vantage point which gave him an unhindered view of the small river valley and the evasive warband camped beside it.

The raiders were camped in the bend of a small river. Tendrils of smoke rose from their fires and the sound of their celebrations was so loud that it reached the ears of the warriors who gathered beside the Lord of Avalon to watch them. The raiders were drinking heavily, jubilant over the spoils they had amassed and drunk on ale and the dark deeds they had participated in. Godric turned away, sickened by their festivities. He saw a pair of buzzards circling overhead and felt a sudden bond with the bird. Godric felt like a hawk, watching from above as his prey remained blissfully ignorant of the imminent danger until, he hoped, the battle was already lost.

'They're very confident,' Salazar observed in a hushed whisper.

'They're _very_ trapped,' Troll-Bane corrected the young wizard. The castellan had already scanned the landscape for every landmark which they could manage to turn to their advantage in battle.

'Not entirely,' Salazar frowned, 'they can still use magic to escape.'

'Not if we stop them,' Alain whispered faintly,

'Lord?' Godric inquired, nonplussed.

'Wards,' Salazar said, breaking into a smile. Alain nodded confidently,

'Bloody fools,' Bayard murmured, grinning broadly. The big brawler was always at his happiest before a fight.

'What do we do, Lord?' Hamon asked, the rest of Alain's retinue listening intently behind him. Godric knew what his uncle would say before Alain even opened his mouth and he clutched his sword tightly as he felt a wave of anticipation for the coming battle begin to rekindle in his veins.

'What we must,' Alain suddenly smiled wolfishly, his eyes dancing with a lust for blood and revenge, 'and nothing will stop us from reeking bloody revenge on them. We attack!'


	34. Thirty-Three: The Clash of Wands

**The Clash of Wands**

Disillusioned so that he remained unseen as he lurked in the shadows of the undergrowth, Godric was ready to strike. His dagger was clenched in his hand and his mail tunic jinked as he shifted with discomfort at being crouched down for so long. A sentry stood ten yards away from him, idly tapping his wand against a thigh. The raider was trying to resist the draw of sleep, completely unaware of Godric prowling nearby as the young knight prepared to bring death to the unsuspecting watchman.

All the sentries must die. Alain's orders had been clear and Godric did not balk at the command. No stunning spells were to be used, for they could not risk the watchmen raising the alarm if they regained consciousness. Godric understood this and the dagger in his hand would hopefully ensure that the sentry was silenced. If the Lord of Avalon's strategy was to succeed, then it was vital that these men were dispatched without a struggle. Once they were dead, then Alain's enchanted wards could be erected.

A ward-stone weighed down the pouch tied to Godric's belt. When the sentry was dead, Alain had ordered him to bury charmed stone in the earth at the edge of the raider's encampment. Another five volunteers all carried rune-engraved stones, for once the wards encircled the unsuspecting raiders, then the Lord of Avalon's spells would be activated and no one would be able to use magic to escape from the wands and swords which came to vanquish them. However, it was a dangerous task, for once the wards had been established then no wizard could apparate away from the place of slaughter, including those who followed Alain's banner.

It was a moonless night and the cloaking darkness in that brief window before dawn broke was Godric's ally, for it allowed him to creep within striking distance of the sentry without been seen. Fallen leaves and twigs crunched beneath his feet, but the silencing charm he'd cast to stifle the noise they made ensured that he could inch ever closer to his prey. When the sentry yawned, closing his eyes with a groan and lifting a hand away from his weapons, Godric knew it was time for the man to die.

The young knight darted forward and managed to clasp a hand over the man's mouth, muffling the sentry's astonished yelp as Godric thrust the dagger passed greasy, mangled hair and into the exposed flesh between the helmet and damp cloak. The sentry stiffened and inhaled sharply as the blade pierced his skin, whilst Godric held him tightly so that the man's death throes would not alert a more observant comrade. Blood leaked from the wound when the dagger was wrenched out and the man wrestled in a desperate effort to dislodge his killer until the blade lunged again. The sentry shuddered, before finally falling still as his life gave up the struggle. Godric held the corpse for a moment longer until he was sure the watchman's soul had fled, then lowered it gently to the earth.

Hiding the corpse amongst the biting thorns of a nearby thicket, Godric felt the familiar flicker of remorse for the man's death. He immediately suppressed it as the memories of the horrors unleashed upon the native Welsh hardened his heart. Godric pulled the dagger from the limp body and wiped it clean of the sticky blood which stained it. Releasing a sigh of relief when he realised that the sentry's death had gone unnoticed by his rejoicing companions, Godric began to dig away at the dirt beneath a beech tree so that he could bury the ward-stone Alain had entrusted him with. However, one man had witnessed it and his voice startled Godric as it hailed him from the dark.

'Behaving like a Muggle,' Salazar hissed wryly, emerging from the shadows smug smile, 'you do realise you're a wizard, don't you?'

Godric ignored him, taking the small stone from his pouch and dropping it into the hole he'd made. His silence caused Salazar's smile to widen,

'I leave you alone for an hour and you resort to killing men like a barbarian,' Salazar sniggered in mock disapproval, before speaking slowly as if he addressed a small child and waved his wand in the air, 'this is a wand. Wizards use them to make bright lights…'

'Shut up, Sal,' Godric grunted, 'I take it that your ward-stone is in place.'

'The sentry is dead and the stone ready to be activated,' Salazar said pompously, clearly happy to have completed the task more swiftly than his celebrated warrior friend, 'are we just waiting for Hamon?'

'Yes,' Godric confirmed, standing slowly and wiping the dirt from his hands, 'he's the last on this side of the river. Efnysien, Lancel and Isobel will have crossed the river by now and should be burying their own ward-stones. Once Hamon arrives, we'll move in.'

'Well,' Salazar said, using his cloak to keep the thorns at bay as he settled down in the undergrowth, 'whilst we wait, I'm sure you won't mind if I regale you with my gallant deeds.'

Salazar plucked a wild mushroom from the ground and examined it closely as his friend rolled his eyes, before flicking it away in boredom.

'Could I stop you even if I wanted too?' Godric smirked,

'Not a chance,' Salazar grinned before leaping into the tale, leaving Godric praying for Hamon's imminent arrival.

Yet, Hamon did not come and as the night drew ever closer to dawn and the sound of celebrations dimmed, the two friends began to grow increasingly concerned.

'Hamon you bloody fool,' Salazar growled impatiently, his irritation steadily increasing with every minute which passed and his friend still remained absent, 'we could just leave him?'

'Salazar,' Godric sighed, frowning disapprovingly and provoking a chuckle from Salazar, 'we're not leaving Hamon behind.'

'What?' Salazar exclaimed, 'if he takes any longer, then dawn will be upon us and we'll squander our chance. I'm not facing Alain's wrath when it's not my fault. Besides, Hamon's best years are behind him.'

'He's only a year younger than you!'

'Exactly,' Salazar smirked, 'and look how much he eats now. Another few years and it'll be a miracle if a bowman struggled to hit him. Another few years and a bowman would struggle not to hit him.'

Godric shook his head before he returned to watching the raiders, deciding that he didn't have the patience to argue with Salazar. He knew that Salazar would never admit it, but his irritation was being fuelled by frayed nerves and worry over Hamon's continued absence. It certainly worried Godric, who was contemplating abandoning the task Alain had given him to go in search of his missing friend. Salazar was also right to fret, for their time was a precious commodity they could not afford to waste and if Hamon took any longer, then his friends would be forced to infiltrate the raider's camp without him. Alain's decision to entrust a Muggle with such an important task had been met with consternation from some of the wizards in the company and Godric hoped that this had not provoked Hamon into doing anything too foolhardy.

Ultimately, they needn't have worried, as the rustle of leaves finally signalled Hamon's impending arrival. The young knight slunk through the copse bushes until he crouched low beside his friends. Hamon looked so disgruntled that it silenced any arguments over his tardiness as the Muggle vigorously scraped his boots on the long grass around them.

'The bastard was taking a shit,' Hamon grumbled, 'I tried to take him unawares, 'but had to get close to gut him. He put up a fight and we both ended up rolling around in his bloody mess. God, I stink like a filth-ridden hog!'

'If it helps,' Salazar managed to gasp as he struggled to contain his mirth, 'you are a filth-ridden hog… _don't you bloody dare.'_ The older wizard hissed incredulously as his friend kicked out with a shit-covered boot, narrowly avoiding smearing it over Salazar's tunic. Godric growled at them to be quiet, but the screams of captured men and women taken as slaves still howled into the night and the cries of the drunken revellers helped drown out any sound which may have alerted the raiders.

During their long wait, Godric and Salazar had scanned the raider's encampment for the best route in which to infiltrate the enemy's lines. They decided that one of the few huts, situated towards the outskirts of the camp and erected with spear shafts and cloaks, afforded them a chance to remain hidden for long enough to trigger Alain's enchantment. Hamon quickly agreed to their plan and soon they were slinking across the open grass, keeping a wary eye on the glowing fires which peppered the camp.

Godric smiled in satisfaction as they reached the outskirts of the enemies camp undetected, feeling like one of the spirits which haunted the night in the tales told to disobedient children. When his friends settled in behind him and the situation was so reminiscent of their childhood exploits in Avalon that they all shared excited grins.

They pressed on more cautiously, their hands fingering the weapons at their belts as they passed sleeping men and dying fires until they finally reached their destination. Glancing about them to ensure that their progress still went unnoticed, Godric lifted the hem of a mud-crusted cloak and quickly rolled inside the makeshift hut. His wand was in his hand as he crouched low, his eyes blinking as they readjusted to the dimly lit, smoke-filled gloom. Just like Melusine's quarters on Ynys Mon, the interior of the hut had been charmed to be far more magically expansive than it first appeared, although this did not divert Godric's attention from the sight which greeted him. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Several figures already occupied the hut. One was already dead, a naked woman left discarded amongst a bed of cloaks as blood still trickled across pale skin from the bloody gash which had slit her throat. Godric's gaze hovered over the dead woman for a heartbeat, before moving to where another girl lay in the arms of a thickset man. Having suffered a terrible ordeal after falling into the hands of evil men, Godric thought she was dead until her tear-stained eyes fluttered open and stared at him through the smoky haze. Her gaze widened at the sudden appearance of an armoured warrior but managed to silence her startled gasp as Godric raised a warning finger to his lips, pleading for her to stay silent.

Godric crept closer, approaching them until he towered over the sleeping raider. Then the young knight nudged him with a foot,

'Stop struggling,' the raider mumbled drowsily in heavily accented French, thinking it was the girl in his arms who had prodded him, 'do you want to be knifed like the other bitch?'

When his threat went ignored and the boot prodded his ribs again, the raider rolled over and opened his bleary eyes before frowning up at Godric's looming figure.

'Wait your turn,' the raider growled, momentarily assuming that Godric was another lustful comrade until he saw the rampant lion on Godric's breast. None of his companions had a rampant lion as a coat-of-arms, 'wait, who the fuck are…'

A heavy boot kicked out viciously, breaking the raider's nose and instantly rendering him unconscious.

'Shit,' he heard Salazar hiss as his companions followed him through the cloak-wall and discovered the corpse. Rising to his feet, Hamon frowned when he discovered that Godric had not killed the raider responsible, having resorted to enveloping the man with a body-bind curse.

'You didn't kill him?'

'Not yet,' Godric explained, as he unfastened his scarlet cloak and passed it to the quivering girl, who took it tentatively and refused to meet any of their gazes as she hid her nakedness. Godric shrugged at her silence, before dragging the unconscious man to the huts smouldering hearth. Salazar was already there and had begun to hurriedly dig a small hole in which to bury the last ward-stone.

'How long will it take?' Godric asked, gagging the raider with a scrap of dirty cloth before reviving him. The man stared at them in fear and horror,

'Not long,' Salazar said, concentrating on the task ahead of him, although he spared their vile captive a contemptuous glance, 'although you have enough time to slit this bastards throat…'

'Only when we have what we need,' Godric promised grimly, 'I want to know who leads them.'

'Then make it quick,' Salazar murmured absentmindedly, his mind back on his task.

'Good,' Godric said, drawing his dagger and holding it out to Hamon, who was glaring at the raider with loathing, 'do you want the honour?'

'It'll be a pleasure,' Hamon smiled darkly and reached over to take the proffered dagger.

A small hand grabbed the dagger first. Without hesitating, the girl tore the blade from Godric's hand and darted forward before any of the knights could stop her and screeched as she thrust the dagger into the helpless man's body. The three companions watched on in horror as the girl's hand lunged down with a sickening squelch, was wrenched back with a spurt of blood and then plunged in again and again until the girl's squealing cries became a laboured rasp and the raider was nothing more than a blood splattered creature.

' _What the fuck was that_?' they heard a bemused voice call out from the fire lit night. Godric sprang towards the huts opening flap in a desperate effort to reach it before they were discovered. But he was too late.

Drawn to the hut by the strange, squealing cry of rage and hurt, a bearded raider tore the flap aside and strode across the hut's threshold, the flaming torch he held illuminating the grisly scene. His eyes widened in astonishment as they darted from one infiltrator to the next before finally landing on the twitching body of his dying comrade and the gore smeared girl who crouched beside him. Her sticky hands were still clasped around the dagger which had punctured the man's torn guts.

An alarmed cry managed to escape from his throat, but it didn't last long. The hiss of a drawn sword echoed in the confined quarters before blood splattered the makeshift walls as Godric released his blade from its sheath and ruthlessly hacked the raider down. The man reeled backward with an agonised squeal, the torch flying from his lifeless hand where it landed in a pile of discarded clothes which burst into flames as a cascade of fiery ashes showered over them.

They could hear running feet thundering nearer as the jubilant atmosphere quickly descended into confusion. Godric stood at the entrance of the hut, ready to confront anyone who ventured into the gloom whilst Salazar, his surprise at the girl's actions long forgotten, hurried to bury the ward-stone before casting the final enchantments Alain had taught him. Hamon leaned forward and dragged the girl away from the raider. However, he soon cried out when the girl twisted out of his grasp and bit down hard upon his unarmoured hand. The Muggle knight roared at the pain, but the girl was already fleeing, ripping the cloaks aside and sprinting towards the treeline in a bid to escape the anarchy which was about to descend upon them.

'Salazar?' Godric cried out as the sound of running feet grew louder.

'One moment,' Salazar snapped, biting his lip as his brow furrowed in concentration. Uttering one last spell, a bright blue light exploded from the small stone, sending a tremor through the earth as Alain's enchantments were finally triggered. Salazar grinned victoriously before Hamon grabbed his shoulder and dragged him away from the inferno beginning to engulf the small hut. Seeing his friends bolting away from the flames, Godric led their escape. As another armed figure invaded the hut and was blasted back by Godric's wand, the young knight charged out into the night.

Fleeing the fire, the three men were greeted with chaos, for they stood amidst an alarmed and panicked warband. Shouts deafened them causing a great clamour which only served to confuse the raiders more, for they drowned out the astonished cries of those who saw several followers of the Lord of Avalon burst out of the fiery tempest. The raiders who saw them recovered quickly and shouting challenges rushed to confront them.

There was barely any time to react to the ensuing chaos and knowing that hesitating would only lead to an untimely grave, Godric heroically charged to meet the surge of raiders head on. He dodged a spell as he went, casting his own charm to distract one of his opponents and swinging his sword in a mighty arc, sending another raider staggering back in his haste to avoid it. Another spell hurtled towards Godric, but Salazar was there to shield him, intercepting the spell in a shower of sparks before engaging another wizard. Pausing behind them, Hamon unhooked a hunting horn from his belt and regardless of whether the wards had been erected successfully, raised it to his lips and released a long, harrowing note calling the rest of the wolves to battle.

Yet, no call answered it and Hamon only had enough time to blow one last blast on the horn before he was forced to confront a charging raider. Hamon skipped aside from the wild hack and as the blade thudded into the grass where his feet once stood, the Muggle knight broke the horn against the man's skull, felling him instantly. Hamon stepped over the senseless raider, drawing his sword as he went to join his friends. Meanwhile, Godric feinted high, only to sweep the blade across one man's thigh and kicked the wounded raider aside. He didn't pause, forcing a wizard to deflect his next spell which granted Hamon the opportunity to thrust his sword through the wizard's throat.

But more raiders were coming and still, no horn call answered them. The fire behind them roared and crackled, illuminating the three knights as they fought for their lives. Long hours of sweat, toil and bruising beatings on Avalon's tiltyard had shaped the young men into hardened fighters and they began to fight as the intensely trained unit Hugh and Alain had shaped them to be. They were young, confident and fought as one, the swords of Godric and Hamon taking the battle to their enemies whilst Salazar, his lean frame stood slightly behind his sworn-brothers, used his wand to shield them from missiles.

A half formed golem conjured from smouldering wood blocked a spell intended for Godric and exploded as the young knight, who could hear Hamon snarling furiously at the enemy, lifted his sword to meet his enemy's blade. The man wrenched his arm back and began to swing it around for another blow when Godric's fist shot out and punched the raider from his feet. Stepping back, Godric barely had time to parry a thrust from another warrior. Fortunately, he was granted a short reprieve when Salazar summoned a great, ethereal snake which slithered from the tip of his wand. The snake wrapped around the raider's leg, causing him to howl in pain as the spell scorched his flesh before it flung him into the roaring flames. His agonised screams rose over the cries of fighting men as the fires consumed him, but they were drowned out by the sudden blaring of a mighty horn.

The battle instantly fell still as the raiders turned to stare in fear at the woods which surrounded their camp, where suddenly the rolling thunder of galloping hooves grew nearer. The three battling knights roared in joy, for the Lord of Avalon was coming to bring death to the raiders.

A volley of spells flew from the shadows of the tree line, flares of colour bursting into flame wherever they struck. In the flickering firelight, over a dozen mounted knights charged into the melee like avenging gods. Hugh Troll-Bane led them, his horse barrelling fleeing raiders aside as the paladin's famous sword cleaved through a man's skull. Lances were thrust into unarmoured bodies and flashing swords stained the ground with blood, whilst a howling Bayard spurred into the scurrying raiders, hacking down with his own sword. Gilbert rode with them and in his hand flew the great standard of Avalon, spreading terror through the raiders as it revealed who exactly had come to destroy them.

The Lord of Avalon marched towards his enemies on foot, his wand drawn and hurling spells. Isolde walked by his side, her wand guarding Alain against attack and stray missiles as Dewa Swift-wand came with them, backed by a score of warriors, bringing more slaughter to those who tried to escape the rampaging horsemen. The wizards amongst the raiders saw the encroaching warriors and knew that if they did not flee then their deaths were upon them. Taking out their wands, they tried to apparate away from the chaos unfolding in the clearing. But Alain's enchantments held and flung the wizards backward so that they sprawled in the mud. Despite their muddled minds, it didn't take the raiders long to realise the futility their situation of either seeking an escape or surrendering to the merciless Lord of Avalon. They may have been men to hire but they were also brave and with giving battle their only option, the raiders threw themselves at the Lord of Avalon's oncoming warband with a defiant roar of cornered lions and the fight turned into a wild, frenzied killing field.

In the middle of all the flames and bloodshed, Godric was laughing. He was the Lord of Black-Hollow, a descendant of a long line of heroic warriors and he would not fall. The blood of his ancestors fuelled the battle-haze which had descended upon him and the young knight revelled in the madness around him. His sword and wand threw back anyone who dared to fight him, for Godric was stronger, faster and cleverer than any of the raiders he battled against and it wasn't long before his enemies hesitated to approach him out of fear of the blood-soaked fiend who was relishing in the slaughter. Ignored by the fighting men, screaming women sought their chance to escape the clutches of the men who had abused them and ran for the trees.

Not everyone feared him and from the crowd of fighting men emerged Muggle-Bane. With his face masked by a long dead skull and his spiked staff already dripping with blood, he rushed forward with a roar. It was a savage Siedr weapon, for those warlike sorcerers had a tradition of adding spearheads and cleaving blades to their staffs so that they could join the brutal chaos of the melee. These weapons had been feared during the Harrying, especially when the battles which set the north of England ablaze grew ever more desperate and futile and now it was ferociously wielded by a furious Muggle-Bane who was set on ending the resistance of the three young upstarts.

Salazar's warning shout was all Godric knew of Muggle-Bane's attack and Godric spun to find the staff bearing down upon his head. Fortunately, Hamon's blade stopped it dead. But it was too late to check the momentum of Muggle-Bane's charge and the wild mage barrelled into Godric, sending him sprawling on his back. Twirling his staff, Muggle-Bane skilfully deflected Salazar's spell before Hamon's sword hacked into his torso. Yet, the troll skins he wore as a cloak were thicker than any animal hide and soaked up the force of the blow, the blade failing to bite through the thick cloak. Muggle-Bane turned so swiftly that Hamon didn't even see the spiked staff fall until it hammered against his helmet and his world burst into blinding lights.

Godric saw his sworn-brother slump senseless to the ground and his mind went blank as he released a with a thunderous roar. A berserk rage broke forth from the constraints he used to keep it chained, sending a powerful blast of magic erupting towards Muggle-Bane. The spell missed, but the flash was so bright that it half-blinded Muggle-Bane and the killing blow he'd intended to drive into Hamon's defenceless body thudded harmlessly into the churned mud.

Muggle-Bane staggered, flailing as he sought to clear his vision, but by the time the wizard righted himself, Godric was already upon him. The young knight hacked out, felt his sword cut into flesh and heard the grunt of pain it provoked. Godric wrenched the blade free and felt a fist hammer into his face. He reeled slightly, tasting blood, but managing to hold his ground as he felt another hand claw at his throat. Godric struck and felt the blade cut deep into Muggle-Bane's midriff, but again he failed to halt the wizard's efforts to kill him. The spiked staff rose, but when Salazar disarmed him, Muggle-Bane resorted to trying to wring the life out of Godric with his bare hands. The young knight felt the man's fingers glance off his neck so shoved him back, tearing the blade free with a sickening squelch. Then, as Muggle-Bane struggled to come at him again, Godric lifted the blade for the final blow and brought it down hard.

His life bleeding away from the many wounds inflicted upon him, Muggle-Bane raised his hand in a desperate attempt to thwart his death. Godric's sword paid no heed to his efforts, slicing through the wizard's flailing arm until the blade severed it completely and buried itself in Muggle-Bane's neck. The big man gurgled behind his broken skull mask, blood and spit staining the ivory-coloured bone until with a final spasm he fell lifeless into the mud.

His berserk rage fleeing as soon as Muggle-Bane died, Godric ran to help Hamon, but Salazar was already leaning over their friend. He removed the helmet and examined the wound beneath it which was bleeding profoundly from beneath Hamon's mail coif.

'He lives,' Salazar exclaimed in relief. He seemed surprised to find Godric with them, but pushed him away, 'Go! The battle is not done and Alain will need you with him. I'll protect Hamon. Go!'

Godric momentarily gaped at Salazar, before obeying his friend and sprinting off towards the river, where the battle was still raging fiercely. A few raiders had managed to retrieve some of their horses and spurred into the river in a desperate bid to escape. But they were brought to an abrupt halt when an enchanted ball of water struck one rider, unhorsing him. Another spell collided with another horse's leg, shattering bone and toppling the beast with a frantic scream. Scrambling in the sludge, the raider managed to regain his feet to find Lancel the Valiant bearing down upon him with a spell which threw him down, never to rise again. His companion spluttered as he tried to defy his heavy armour and struggled to resurface, but Efnysien's sword bit down and the water turned red around him. Isobel the Enchantress surged past as Efnysien freed the sword from the dead man's ribs and Lancel brandished his wand to clear a space for the trio to scramble onto the riverbank. Together, they had disposed of the sentries on the far river bank and erected the wards as Alain instructed, waiting for the horn call which would signal the attack before fording the river and surging into the battle.

Godric darted through the battle, searching for his uncle. It didn't take him long to locate him, for Alain had fought his way into the heart of the burning camp, Isolde, and Dewa still at his back. The Lord of Avalon was dressed for war and arrows hissed towards him, only to be blown disdainfully aside with a great gust of wind summoned from Alain's wand. Isolde danced aside from a raider who attempted to rush her with his shield raised. Her wand twirling lithely in her hand, Isolde cast a spell which slipped beneath the shield's rim and shattered the man's knee. Collapsing, the man yelped helplessly as Alain whipped his sword about and slashed the blade across his chest, killing him instantly.

Godric leaped over a fallen corpse impaled by one of Gawain's great arrows and grinned when he reached his uncle's side. Alain didn't register his nephew's arrival, for his gaze was transfixed on the remaining raiders. Barely a score still fought on uninjured and these survivors clustered together, huddling in a tightly packed wall of spears, shields, and wands. Realising that they were all dead men, a broken-nosed warrior, the veteran of many campaigns, rallied the raiders with a speech which made their hearts soar with defiance. Even as Broken-Nose spoke, Godric saw a Breton retainer ride to close and pay for the mistake when he was dragged from his saddle and hacked to death.

The wall would have to be broken and the longer Alain delayed the harder the task would be. He began to march towards them and his followers ran to join him. Hugh Troll-Bane, dismounting from his stampeding warhorse, pushed his way through the ranks to join Alain so that his shield could defend the Lord of Avalon, whilst Isolde and Dewa took the places behind them. They were marching towards the wall now, assembled in a lance formation and Alain blinked in surprise when he finally realised that Godric had forced his way to stand beside him.

'Can you keep up, old man?' Godric grinned boldly and Alain threw his head back and barked with laughter.

'That's no way to speak about Hugh,' the Lord of Avalon replied, eliciting a grunt of amusement from the paladin at his other side, 'you should stay back whilst this _old_ man shows you how a real master of war gives battle.' Only a few yards separated the opposing sides and Alain howled as he threw himself on the line which bristled with swords and wands. His followers charged with him and Bayard led the mounted knights by spurring into the melee, hewing men with great cleaving arcs of their swords as the final stages of the fight descended into an orgy of blood-letting.

Alain hacked and blasted his way through the clashing fighters until he faced Broken-Nose alone. Whilst the mercenary was an accomplished fighter, the Lord of Avalon was better. Alain didn't use his wand for it would have been dishonourable to do so in a duel against a combatant who could not use magic. However, Alain didn't need his magic and his skill with a blade was just as proficient as his prowess with a wand. Broken-Nose could not match him, but he fought bravely and Alain killed him as swiftly as he could so that the warrior would not suffer the agonising deaths dealt out to many of his fallen comrades.

It was a hard fought battle and by its end many of the Lord of Avalon's followers sported wounds. They lost four men in that last brief struggle; two Welshmen, a Breton and one of Dewa Swift-wand's companions, at least half of their casualties in the entire battle. Of the knights of Avalon, only Tobias was injured, having been struck by a dark spell which began to rot the flesh of his leg. Isolde was hurriedly applying healing charms to lessen the damage inflicted upon the limb, for she had examined Hamon's bleeding head and judged that Muggle-Bane's blow had done nothing more than scar his head and render the young man senseless for a brief time.

Hamon was already smiling and joking with his companions by the time Godric reached him, although his eyes retained their unfocused quality. Godric clapped him on the back, before walking away from his companions, breathing heavily as he tried to dispel the remnants of the battle-haze which still unsettled him. Exceedingly restless, Godric made to return to the treeline and saw Gervais emerging into the clearing, Bran and two helpers with him as they brought the rest of the Lord of Avalon's horses to the camp. The horse breeder had been charged with guarding the beasts during the battle and his relief that all his friends remained relatively unscathed was evident in the grin he wore when Godric approached him.

'Still alive?'

'Just,' Godric chuckled wearily as he embraced his friend. Then he stopped in shock, for stood beside Gervais and still wrapped in Godric's scarlet cloak, was a very familiar fair-haired girl Godric had last seen bounding away from a raider she had just disemboweled.

'Caught this one trying to steal one of my horses,' Gervais smiled as Godric watched on dumbly. The horse-breeder seemed highly amused by this, impressed by the girl's tenacity. His cloak was draped around her shoulders as she pressed into Gervais's side, appearing comfortable in the retainer's reassuring presence. The girl glanced at Godric, but shied away from him, uneasy with the young knight's blood drenched state and his knowledge of what she had suffered, 'her names Delwen apparently.'

'I'd be careful,' Godric said, smiling with as much kindness as he could muster before winking at his friend, 'she's a little valkyrie. She gutted a raider tonight.'

'Truly?'

'Saw it with my own eyes,' Godric commented, remembering the brutal rage-fuelled revenge she had unleashed upon the man who had tortured her.

'Brilliant,' Gervais positively beamed at him, causing Godric to roll his eyes at his friend's antics. He left his friend trying to communicate with the Welsh girl by using his limited understanding of her native tongue and returned to the battle ground.

Corpses littered the burning encampment. Godric avoided them, for despite being a killer of men, he often felt uncomfortable around the dead and felt unnerved by the pitiful souls which lingered unseen and mournful over the bloody fields. Despite having limited experience of battle, Godric had already accepted that he would never get used to it; the stillness of the lifeless bodies, forlorn figures frozen in time with faces contorted in horror, pain or regret at hopes and the shattered dreams their spirits left behind.

When Alain's warband attacked, the Lord of Avalon had no intention of letting any of the raiders live. The corpse-strewn battlefield was a testament to this promise, for the raiders were dishonourable men who had pillaged and slaughtered their way across the Welsh hills with a brutality so repulsive that it had not been seen since the Harrying. Consequently, Alain had judged that all the raiders, whether wizards or Muggles, deserved to die for the horrors they had unleashed upon the innocent.

However, one raider did survive the brutal battle, a feat achieved through cowardice rather than courage.

The first Godric knew of it was when shouting broke out beside the river bank, followed by the sound of a struggle and splashing water. By the time he heard Isobel the Enchantress cast a freezing charm and the subsequent squeal of agony, Godric and his companions slowed to a stop, swiftly realising that the formidable young witch had regained control of the situation.

Isobel used her wand to drag the unfortunate captive unceremoniously into the heart of the smouldering encampment, where the warriors and wizards of Alain's company clustered around the Lord of Avalon. The terrified man struggled against the magical chains which held him, trying to reclaim what little was left of his bruised and dwindling pride. But his tunic was drenched, his body shivering from the cold and stained with sludge and clinging reeds. He looked pitiful and honourless as he stood before them, his eyes darting wildly about him as he searched for an ally and found none.

Yet, when his frantic gaze landed upon Godric, both their eyes widened in recognition as they gasped in surprise. Stood before Godric was a man he had first met on sacred Ynys Mon, a man who he had instinctively disliked for his arrogance and his pursuit of Rowena.

It was Ramon Bigot who led their enemy and now he would pay the price.


	35. Thirty-Four: She-Wolf

**She-Wolf**

Bigot was a fool.

That much was evident. He stood before the Lord of Avalon, quivering with unconcealed outrage and shame. Most men would have wilted in fear, but the mulish Bigot was so foolish that he could not grasp how the Bigot name was not enough to dissuade any of the surrounding warriors from executing him, despite what his own mind and the silver-tongues of others led him to believe. Furthermore, the butchered corpses of the mercenaries which littered the ground about him suggested that his life was now Alain's hands, and the blood stained Lord of Avalon was not in a merciful mood.

Alain summoned Salazar and the two men conversed in hushed whispers, leaving Godric to kneel in the churned mud and used a clump of trampled grass to wipe the blood from his sword. His gaze never strayed from Bigot's face, scrutinising the furious captive intently, unable to comprehend how such a young and unremarkable wizard had found himself in the company of hardened killers. Moreover, Godric pondered silently, how had such a loyal friend of Amalric Black come to be in the company of his enemies? Godric frowned, knowing that Salazar would soon discover the truth.

The seriousness of his dire situation was slowly beginning to dawn on Bigot and although he tried to conceal his growing fear, the knights who surrounded him could sense it. Hamon strode forward with a heavy spear; his face resembling a grisly mask, Bigot couldn't resist flinching away from the nightmarish Muggle. The young knight struck Bigot's heavily chained legs with the spear shaft and the wizard crumpled to his knees with a yelp. However, the blow seemed to snap Bigot out of his cowardly daze,

'Bastard worm,' he snarled in outrage at the indignity of being manhandled by a Muggle. Hamon cuffed him across the head with a mail-clad fist in response,

'That's not very nice,' Hamon chastised him with a smirk. His duty done, Hamon returned to his place beside Godric. The Muggle knight grinned at his friend, sighing wistfully, 'I love hitting wizards.'

Godric chuckled, for he was more than familiar with Hamon's complicated feelings towards wizards and their prejudices against his kind after years spent on the tiltyard together. But Godric swiftly realised that Hamon was still dazed from the swelling wound he'd taken fighting Muggle-Bane and he managed to persuade his friend to seek out Isolde again. After watching Hamon leave reluctantly, Godric glanced at his closest companions, unsurprised to find them all sharing similar feelings as their malevolent glares pierced the cowering Bigot. Efnysien's was the most chilling.

'We could geld him?' the young Welshman suggested threateningly, fingering the handle of the eating knife and leering wickedly at the incredulous Bigot, 'that will make him sing…'

'Not whilst he is a prisoner of mine,' Alain answered brusquely, returning to the gathering warriors and levelling Bigot with an icy glare, 'I have every confidence that Salazar will soon discover all we can learn from him. Keep your blade sheathed, Owain ap Cadwgan. If I am wrong, then we may have to rethink the situation. Your knife may be of use to us then.'

Efynisien looked disgruntled, but the Lord of Avalon had already moved on to confront their kneeling captive. With a wave of his hand, Alain released Bigot from Isobel's bonds. The constricting chains dispersed in a puff of smoke, eliciting a gasp from Bigot as he immediately began rubbing at the chaffed sores inflicted upon him by the magical bonds.

'I've been told your name is Ramon Bigot,' the Lord of Avalon addressed the raider coolly, 'by now, you must have realised that your fate is in your own hands. We need answers to riddles you alone can provide. If you choose to speak willingly and tell us how and why you came to be here, we may treat you mercifully. If you seek to hinder us, then we'll take what we need by other means and leave your corpse to rot with the rest of your friends here.'

Alain prodded Broken-Nose's corpse to emphasise the seriousness of his threat. Bigot stared up at the Lord of Avalon, then spat at his feet scornfully.

'Beast lover,' the younger man snarled, seeking the worst insult he could muster. He ended up whimpering in agony when Hugh Troll-Bane's boot kicked his ribs and sent him reeling away, gasping for breath.

'You have no honour,' Hugh growled, his contempt obvious. Godric suspected that it was the insult to Morwenna which had sparked the Paladin's rage rather than Bigot's blatant cowardice.

'Men like him never do,' Alain responded mildly, laying a placating hand on his friend's arm, 'and remember that trading insults benefit no one. If you do not talk, then we will be forced to prise it out of you.'

'You wouldn't dare,' Bigot exclaimed indignantly, before recoiling beneath the Lord of Avalon's heated gaze and as Alain's hand twitched towards the holstered wand, the only reaction which betrayed Alain's desire to take the man's life.

'Salazar, see to our friend,' Alain ordered, gesturing his former apprentice forward as he retreated. Bigot eyed Salazar warily, scenting trouble when the younger man drew his wand and pointed it in Bigot's direction, who began to desperately search for an escape. Yet, he could not flee, especially once Godric and Hugh seized him by the arms and held him still. Bigot cried out, struggling helplessly as the menacing wand drew closer and Salazar concentrated on summoning the intricate magic the mind arts demanded. Looming over the shivering wizard, Salazar channelled it into his wand and, with a single calming breath to steady his nerves; Salazar unleashed it with the same precision as an arrow being loosed from Gawain's bow.

' _Legilimens_!'

The captive was wrenched back by an invisible force as if he had been struck by the flailing kicks of a great warhorse and every muscle beneath Godric's hands tensed as Bigot thrashed against the invasive spell. They could feel Bigot struggling to master his own mind, but he was unable to shake off the strong arms which held him despite the sweat which began to drip of both men.

When Salazar finally released Bigot from the spell, he appeared both pensive and disgruntled.

'He's been trained in Occlumency,' he concluded and Bigot managed to sneer at them through barred teeth and in-between great, heaved breaths. Yet, he had little time to regather his strength before Salazar's magic assaulted him, breaking upon Bigot's defences and searching for a weakness he could breach.

They remained locked in their silent tussle for some time and the wait dragged on and the weary onlookers began to grow idle, Salazar's expression began to darken. When he finally broke their connection with an appalled splutter, he glared angrily at Bigot and looked sickened by what he had just witnessed in the dark recesses of the man's mind.

'Godric,' Salazar growled, 'hit him.'

'Why?' Godric inquired warily, reluctant to strike a beaten man regardless of how much he might dislike him.

'He is more accomplished at Occlumency than we first realised,' Salazar warned him, 'he tried to summoned images to distract me from exploiting any weaknesses in his defences by summoning fabricated images. Most involved a witch who is a mutual acquaintance of ours and what this craven bastard intends to do to her in revenge for what has happened here.'

There was no need for Salazar to say more, for it quickly dawned on Godric who Salazar was speaking of and his anger instantly rekindled. Godric struck Bigot, far harder than Hugh ever had. The bruising blow split the skin beneath Bigot's eye and dislodged several teeth, sending the wizard's face painfully crashing into the mud. When Hugh heaved him back up, Bigot was dazed and spitting clogs of dirt and blood from his broken mouth.

'The bitch has it coming,' the raider sneered, glaring at Godric with hatred, 'when the fucking whore's mine, you won't like what I have planned for her. I'll kill you for this and once I've whipped the arrogance out of her, I'll take her to my bed before letting my friends have her…'

Godric's mail-clad fist punched him again, almost rendering Bigot senseless as it drove him back into the mud. Towering over the groaning man, Godric knew that Bigot was purposefully trying to antagonise him with a twisted version of what Rowena's fate would be if she ever fell into Bigot's clutches. It still took the entire young knight's restraint to resist the urge to disregard every code of honour he'd sworn to uphold by ripping out Bigot's tongue and choking him with it.

'Got him,' Godric faintly heard Salazar grunt triumphantly over the blood drumming in his ears. Distracted by his confrontation with Godric, Bigot had failed to reinforce his straining defences and Salazar pounced at the first inkling of vulnerability. Watching Salazar strike, it dawned on Godric that his cunning friend may have orchestrated the entire thing, although he doubted that Salazar would have lied about the threat Bigot posed to Rowena.

Salazar's magic struck Bigot's dwindling defences, piercing them ruthlessly and provoking a hideous scream from the captive wizard. He continued to squeal, twitching violently in Hugh's grip, bloody saliva frothing at his torn mouth as Salazar pillaged his mind. Yet, despite the sickening sight and tortured screams, the onlookers remained unsympathetic to Bigot's plight, even when his wild twitching churned the ground and the pungent stench of piss filled the air and dampened his breeches.

Godric was the first to realise that all was not right and he watched Salazar with growing concern, for the young wizard's eyes were screwed shut and flittering madly behind their lids as he sifted through Bigot's memories unchecked. Only a stifled gasp signalled an abrupt change in Salazar's demeanour and all the masterful control he had established through long hours of study and practice fled instantly. His body began to shudder as violently as Bigot's, his face squirming in pain and discomfort as if an unseen spell had cursed him.

Godric had never seen Salazar react like this when using the mind arts. He was shaking violently, his muscles flinching uncontrollably in a manner so reminiscent of the otherworldly fit which had overruled Rowena's senses during her night of prophecy that Godric fought hard to subdue the instinct to aid his friend and drag him away. It was obvious that others were similarly inclined to help the struggling wizard, but a cry from Alain brought them to an immediate halt. Salazar's wand was still thrust towards Bigot, issuing a stream of magic which still connected them and remained unbroken despite its torturous effects on both wizards. If anyone intervened now, then the consequences could be disastrous.

Until this connection shattered, then none could intervene or the consequences could be disastrous for both wizards. After all, there was a reason why the mind arts were treated with caution, for greater wizards than Salazar had been driven mad by tampering with it.

'No!' Salazar stumbled into the mud as he cried out, his eyes snapping open and staring in abject horror at the captive wizard. He dropped his wand when he fell as if it seared his flesh, but he remained unable to look away from a groaning Bigot, who could only stir feebly. Silence greeted the exchange as his wits slowly returned and his audience held their breath, only disturbed by the crackling of smouldering fires.

'BASTARD,' Salazar suddenly roared, sacrificing his usually measured decorum by leaping at the captive like a feral beast. Godric blocked his progress, but Salazar was consumed with madness and fought with such frantic desperation as he tried to reach Bigot that he tipped the bigger man to the ground.

'Salazar!' Godric shouted, pleading with his naturally aloof friend to see sense and hoping that the magical confrontation hadn't driven Salazar mad. His pleas went ignored, for tears were streaming from Salazar's eyes and his breath was laboured from his recent exertions. The Lord of Avalon's followers exchanged concerned glances, recognising that Salazar's madness was driven by the grave tidings he had discovered. Yet, it was Alain who strode forward and hauled Salazar away from Godric, holding him in an unyielding embrace until Salazar's struggles finally subsided.

'What did you see?' Alain asked softly. Salazar looked away from the Lord of Avalon, unable to face his expectant gaze. He angrily wiped away his tears and summoned the courage to tell his comrades what he'd seen.

'Lord,' he choked, 'I saw the fall of Avalon.'

A gasp rippled through the onlookers, all of them gaping at the distressed young wizard. Concern even flashed across Troll-Bane's stony features. No one dared to move as they waited for Alain's response to the terrible news.

'Explain?' Alain commanded curtly. The Lord of Avalon appeared calm to those who did not know him, but his retainers recognised his hurt and fury at the news. The air around him seemed to reverberate with barely restrained magic and only a fool would have dared to disobey him.

'Avalon burns, Lord,' Salazar cried, 'or it will do soon. I saw mounted men riding towards the castle, under the banner of Bellême. They looked heavily armed and ready for battle.'

'Bellême?' Alain frowned, 'the King swore he was in Normandy fighting rebels for Curthose. The King swore it…'

'He was, Lord,' Salazar replied urgently, 'but he is there no longer. Bellême has returned to England, intent on invading Avalon before Rufus or the Wizengamot can stop him.'

'Do you know more?'

'Not of Bellême,' Salazar admitted wretchedly, shaking his head in frustration, 'Bigot's knowledge of this plot is limited, for he did not partake in every council held by our enemies. He was merely a hound; a fool who could be used to lure you out of Avalon…'

'Then who is behind this?' Dewa asked. Judging by the dangerous look in Alain's grey eyes, he already suspected the culprit.

'The She-Wolf,' Salazar revealed with a snarl of pure rage and loathing, 'only Lady Melusine can be behind it. She is the only person alive who can be assured of commanding Bellême's loyalty. These raids are not the work of bored and restless Normans, for she has tarnished the blood of Merlin by orchestrating everything. It is a trap, Lord, all of this. Bigot is just an expendable fool with a wand; a pawn to be exploited by Melusine, who has provided the gold required to muster these foul mercenaries and instructing them to seek their fortune by raiding Wales. It's a ploy to weaken the other factions, undermining Gofanon's influence whilst luring you out of Avalon. She's coming, Lord, and she will not rest until you are dead and she has what she wants.'

Godric thought back to the fair haired maiden he had glimpsed, shrouded and pacing elegantly through the woodland. At the time, he judged it an apparition caused by his fatigue and outlandish imagination, or a roving fae-spirit which roamed Britain's forests and which had disturbed by Hamon's loud snoring. But the young knight suddenly realised that this had been no mirage, but the Lady Melusine prowling and watching her prey as she waited for a chance to strike.

'But what does Lady Melusine want with Avalon?' Dewa frowned, heedless of Godric's meandering thoughts. Alain's allies knew that Melusine's hatred for Alain of Avalon, but to besiege his stronghold and lure him to his doom was a daring exploit, even for the last descendant of Merlin to achieve. It was unrivalled in its tenacity, for targeting a member of the Wizengamot with the intention of doing them harm broke more than a dozen laws.

'Gold?' Efnysien suggested,

'Renown?' Lancel the Valiant guessed.

'Knowledge,' Salazar murmured, his eyes widening as the truth dawned upon him. The Lord of Avalon nodded, having already guessed the same.

'There are countless more treasures than just gold stored in Avalon,' Alain explained grimly, 'many wizards would kill for the knowledge which can be found in Yusuf's tower. There are rumours that the secrets to the resting places of many great relics of the ancient world are kept there. This includes the Cauldron of Rebirth, a treasure Melusine has coveted for many years.'

'What would she want with an old Cauldron?' Efnysien asked dumbly, 'any smith can fashion a cooking pot.'

'It's a powerful relic,' Alain replied and stroked his greying beard, a habit he often embraced when his stress became too much, 'and was once a notable treasure of ancient kings and wizards. It was claimed that it had the power to make its owner immortal, as well as other, fouler abilities. We should all remember that Melusine has walked this earth for over a hundred years, yet her youth and beauty has barely diminished. Her pride and vanity know no limits, to such an extent that she yearns to return to the glories of her youth. I know little of this Cauldron, but it is an object capable of immense power and I dread what chaos Melusine could unleash if she was ever allowed to wield such magic.'

His audience fell silent as a shiver of trepidation ran through them. It was Hugh, the only man seemingly unmoved by Alain's grim tidings, who spoke up first. The paladin was already dwelling on their next move.

'Did Bigot know of Melusine's whereabouts?'

'Not exactly,' Salazar replied, scowling at the prone figure, 'but he knew that she was close, which is why he has lured us into the hills. They were supposed to join Melusine's warband so that they could spring their trap and turn their combined might against you. According to what I saw in Bigot's mind, Melusine has been shadowing us for days, waiting for the moment to throw scores of her followers against you.'

'I thought as much,' Alain said, his voice maintaining its strange, calming quality, 'my concerns are for Avalon. Even wards which have held for a thousand years can be breached and if anyone has the ability to break through Avalon's defences, then it is Bellême. After all, he is a master of war. Think carefully, Salazar, did Bigot know how Bellême intends to bypass the Ferryman and breach the mists?'

'I don't know,' Salazar answered frustratingly, only just resisting the urge to stamp his foot, 'there were gaps, Lord; memories missing or so well hidden that I couldn't find them. If I had the riches to spare, I'd wager his mind had been tampered with so that he would be ignorant of certain details if ever he was captured. Melusine and Bellême obviously didn't trust Bigot's abilities enough to confide in him.'

'A wise decision as it turned out. It would not surprise me. We must assume that Melusine has learned the Ferryman's secrets, although we don't have the time to question how. Bellême is as opportunistic as he is cruel. He would not risk such a venture of he was not confident of a swift victory.'

'And Avalon is defenceless,' said Salazar, his concern clear. Stood at his side, Godric's hand fell to his sword's hilt and paled as it tightened around it, 'Tancred and Dunstan cannot hold the castle alone against the manpower and wealth Bellême can amass.'

'Not entirely,' Alain said with the faintest trace of a smile, 'there are more to Avalon's defences than stone walls and manpower, especially if you can call upon magic to aid you. However, I admit that the castle is weakened…'

'Then what can we do?' Hamon interjected, returning to the gathering with a blood-stained cloth tied about his wounded head and intent on having his say, 'we can't leave Avalon to the mercy of Bellême.'

Murmurs of support were raised by the rest of Alain's retinue, whose friends and loved ones, risked falling prey to the swords and spells of Bellême's followers. Alain didn't answer immediately and Godric thought that his uncle looked momentarily conflicted. It was a discerning sight to a young knight who had spent half a decade idolising the Lord of Avalon and stirred his growing fear.

Then Alain twisted and vented his inner torment upon the unfortunate Bigot.

His presence forgotten in the aftermath of Salazar's revelation, Bigot had regained enough of his mistreated wits to attempt to shuffle away from a lord of war who had just discovered that the captive had been complicit in a plot to end his life and sack his castle. Bigot got as far as Bayard's boot, where a vicious kick to the ribs caused the raider to groan miserably and fall still. However, his world once again exploded in agonising pain as he was struck by a flaming red spell cast by the Lord of Avalon. Bigot screamed, rolling through the blood-stained mud until a horse's corpse brought him to an undignified halt, leaving the wizard slumped unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Alain closed his eyes in an effort to restrain his burgeoning rage and to ignore the reactions of his followers. Many were stunned to see a crack appear in the Lord of Avalon's composed countenance, especially his allies who had never witnessed such a display of fury from the perpetually mild-mannered Alain. Some jumped in shock and Delwen screamed from beside Gervais, whilst even Alain's own retinue looked concerned. Only Hugh remained untroubled, his gaze scouring the woods around them as if he expected to find Melusine's followers already waiting to attack them.

From out of nowhere, Alain suddenly chuckled wryly.

'A warband marches against us,' he eventually concluded needlessly, as if was untroubled by the knowledge that many warriors prowled nearby, baying for his blood, 'and the She-Wolf wants to kill me.'

'You're not thinking of giving yourself to Melusine?' Salazar exclaimed incredulously, understanding his former master so well that he did not need magic to know his intentions. The retainers of Avalon growled their protests, for they would rather die than see their beloved leader powerless in Melusine's sadistic clutches. Godric added his voice to theirs, immediately resenting such an unheroic strategy.

Alan hesitated and didn't answer. Instead, his gaze turned to his oldest and most loyal follower questioningly. All it took was a simple look for the two warriors to silently acknowledge all that needed to be said, a familiarity and trust born from sharing so many battles over the years they'd been friends. Their comrades shuffled closer, holding their breaths as they waited for Alain to choose between surrender, flight or battle.

'No,' Alain finally said as he shared a resigned smile with Hugh. His decision was met with relief from those who clustered around him, although their apprehension showed no sign of abating. There was still a warband prowling the woods around them, 'I will not place my life in Melusine's hands; not without making her fight for it. No, Melusine's hunting dogs will find that this buck is ready to give battle before it is brought down, for I intend to lead them on a merry chase.'

'Bollocks to that,' Bayard grinned as the warband laughed heartily, 'let's just kill the bastards!'

'Patience, Bayard,' Alain fondly calmed his friend's zealous bloodlust, 'there will still be a battle, whether in Avalon or these hallowed hills. I fear that our company has come to a crossroads. If Bellême marches on Avalon, then some of us must ride to fight him. The rest will stay with me to confront Melusine so that we can truly put the blood of Merlin to the test. I fear that these are the only roads which remain open to us.'

It was decided that the youngest warriors and wizards of the warband would ride defend Avalon. Alain gave no reason for this decision, trusting Hugh to choose the fighters most fitting for each of the trials to come, although many of those who would ride to Avalon's relief were those who had not yet sired a child. Few questioned him, for the Lord of Avalon's command discouraged further argument. Some still protested; Gervais was one, for his presence in the relief force meant that he would be separated from the beloved brother who had all but raised him from childhood and only Gilbert could stiff his sibling's objections. Efynsien arguments went ignored, for his complaints were deemed to be those of a man who would always choose the more difficult road rather than a willingness to fight at the Lord of Avalon's side.

Godric and Salazar were not afforded any opportunity to voice their own desire to remain with Alain. Alain approached them personally, drawing his former apprentices to the bloody riverbank where they could be undisturbed. His followers scurried about the ruined encampment, dispersing as they went to collect their horses, sharpened their weapons and buried their dead. Alain remained silent for a while, simply staring out over the river as the first streaks of dawn bounced off the shimmering water and the night's chill steadily began to seep away.

'I need you both to go to Avalon,' Alain finally confided casually, 'and I have decided that you must lead them.'

The two friends protested instantaneously. Melusine wanted Alain dead and both his erstwhile apprentices were reluctant to abandon the wizard who had fostered them in his household. The Lord of Avalon raised a hand to silence their objections.

'Your loyalty is commendable,' he said fondly, 'and it was never in doubt. But it is misplaced. Listen to me, on the day you were knighted, you not only swore to fight for me but to defend both my household and the innocent. Isn't that right?'

'You've told me repeatedly,' Godric interrupted him incredulously, failing to mask his disbelief, 'that there was no place for chivalry in war, for it belonged to songs and tales rather than battle.'

'And I was right.' Alain noted, 'there is little chivalry to be had in the midst of battle. But innocent lives are at stake, people who cannot be expected to defend themselves. Our honour as fighting men demands that some of us return to Avalon.'

'But why us?' Salazar said beseechingly,

'Because together you can achieve the impossible,' Alain smiled, 'your cunning tempers Godric's recklessness, whilst Godric's bravery inspires others to follow where he leads. You will need them all if you are to face Bellême and live.'

'What about you?'

'Come now, Salazar, we both know you've realised that the old ways are ending and new men must rise to take the mantle from those who came before them. We live in dark times, but we must still hope that better days lie ahead for Britain. Great wizards must rise to the challenge and win their spurs if they are to one day lead.'

'Then what are we supposed to do without you?' Salazar asked him forlornly, 'Britain needs you. Apparate away from here before Melusine can reach you.'

'I will not leave my Muggle followers to perish whilst I flee. There is nothing more dishonourable than letting others risk death so that you can live. If a battle cannot be avoided,' Alain smiled at them as Salazar looked away, shamefaced by his former master's gentle rebuke, 'then be reassured that some of the best warriors in Britain will be by my side. Avalon needs you more.'

Godric exchanged a glance with Salazar before both men sighed in resignation. They knew Alain was right. Avalon was vulnerable and if Bellême broke through its magical defences, then their friends who still inhabited the Isle of Apples would meet a terrible fate. Godric's mind raced with thoughts of Rowena, Morwenna and all the others who remained unaware of the encroaching danger and his resolve hardened. Godric could not let Bellême reach them.

'It would seem like your friend Rowena was right,' Alain said with a sad smile,

'The prophecy,' Godric muttered in agreement. Rowena predicted the sack of a castle when possessed by an otherworldly force. Had she dreamt of Avalon's fate?

'I fear so.'

'Will it be enough?' Salazar inquired, his mind exploring strategies they could adopt once they reached Avalon, 'Bigot seemed to think that Bellême would have over a score of followers with him. There will be scarcely more than a dozen of us. If we end up clashing with him, then it may still be futile.'

'Men have fought futile battles before and still managed to seize the day,' Alain told them with a knowing smile, 'and even if the battle was lost and their lives are forsaken, their heroism and names lingered long in the memory of the people they fought for.'

'You said that Avalon had more defences than we knew of?' Godric pointed out, smiling because his uncle knew just what to say to inspire courage in his nephew.

'Piertotum Locomotor,' said Alain with an impish smile and his eyes twinkled with mischief, an almost mischievous glint in his twinkling eyes, 'you forget that when it comes to magic, the boundaries between the possible and impossible are forever blurred. This is an ancient spell created by the one ruler of Avalon almost a thousand years ago, to be used in times of great peril. Place your wands against the walls of the keep before casting that spell and it will summon allies stronger than any man when our enemies gather at Avalon's gates. They might just swing the battle in our favour.'

'I hope so,' Salazar murmured wearily, sounding unconvinced that a single spell would be enough to turn the tide against Bellême.

'What about him?' Godric asked, pointing at Bigot's prone form, 'if we kill the bastard, then we'll make an enemy of Amalric Black. The two men are good friends.'

'He's a close friend of Amalric Black?' Alain said, looking genuinely surprised.

'Yes, Lord,' Godric nodded, 'I saw them together on Ynys Mon.'

'That is interesting,' Alain mused, his brows furrowing, 'I intended to execute him, but if he is a friend of Black's, then it will be wise to let him live. I wonder why our dear friend did not inform us that such a close companion was discovered amongst his enemies.'

'So he can live to fight another day?' Salazar frowned, evidently disagreeing with Alain's decision. Godric couldn't blame him, for he could not forgive how Bigot had threatened Rowena.

'Bigot will spend the rest of his life with the shame of what he's done,' Alain reassured them, 'he will be stripped, his wand snapped and his body branded with a mark of cowardice long before Melusine can reach him. Let him return to the Blacks both wandless and dishonoured.'

That was only if he did not die at the hands of the vengeful natives. Godric had spent enough time with the Welsh to realise that they did not forgive old hurts. After all, it was widely believed that the most famous of their warrior kings was still supposedly resting in preparation for the day when he'll awaken. Once again he will take up his magic sword and drive the English from the shores of a land they had farmed and fought over for more than half a millennia. Godric pondered it seriously, for he had no qualms over Bigot meeting such a fate.

'What of Black?' Godric inquired. He left a lot unsaid, hesitating instead of openly accusing the opportunistic wizard of betraying the Lord of Avalon. The identity of the traitor in their midst must have played on all their minds.

'This could be a coincidence and Black may not be involved,' Alain warned them with a shrug, 'he is not the only wizard capable of breaking an oath. For now, we have more important matters to deal with. If the fates smile upon us and we live through this plot, then we will confront Amalric Black another day.'

'We'll need it,' Godric grunted, remembering that many claimed that Bellême was the greatest living fae-knight in Britain, a formidable reputation for any man to possess, 'how can anyone follow such vile and dishonourable men?'

'The same reason these men followed Bigot,' Alain said, gesturing at a corpse which lay half submerged amongst the reeds in the shallows of the river, 'the lust for power makes fools of us all and I fear that the promise of riches and renown will plague wizards for eternity. Loyalty is hard to earn and far easier to buy. Sadly, there are few Gryffindors and Slytherins in this world who share a bond strengthened by love and trust. We must all accept the burden that evil will always exist, and summon the courage to challenge people like Melusine and Bellême and any other vile wretch who seeks to abuse their power for their own benefit. Only then can we be reassured that our world still has a future worth dying for.'

'I'd rather not. I'm far too handsome to die,' Salazar said with the ghost of a smile, attempting to dilute the seriousness of their discussion. It had always been his way. Alain laughed and those who heard his amusement felt their confidence return. If a man who had as many enemies as Alain could laugh in the face of death and horror, then there was no reason to let fear rule their own hearts.

As his amusement slowly ebbed away, the Lord of Avalon suddenly reached over and embraced them both. When he finally pulled away, the great wizard's pride in them radiated from him.

'My boys,' he said affectionately, like a father bidding farewell to his sons. In Alain's eyes, they were the children he was never able to give his doting wife and he was unapologetically proud of the young men they had become, 'you are the sons I should have had and you've come so far in the last few years. It is why you both must lead your comrades. I've always said that together, there is nothing you cannot overcome. Remember your courage and the trust you share, for such loyalty, will be irreplaceable in the years to come.'

'Yes, Lord,' they both declared sombrely, humbled by the Lord of Avalon's trust in their abilities.'

'Just promise me that if…' he paused and the two young men suddenly faced a man who feared for the lives of his loved ones and yet could do nothing to alter their fates, 'if it is too late and Avalon is lost, then swear that you will revenge our fallen with such ferocity that no one will ever invade Avalon again.'

'We will,' Godric vowed, for he sensed that the time to part had finally arrived. Salazar merely nodded; remaining oddly silent as if promising orator didn't trust himself to speak.

'We'll come back for you,' Salazar eventually managed to promise as he desperately tried to quell his tears at their parting.

'See to Avalon first,' Alain advised gently, 'but once my household is safe and our enemies have been driven away, then your wands and swords will be welcome. Hugh wants to ride north of here, for he claims we'll stand a better chance of finding a decent place to fight if we are forced to clash with Melusine. I hope it won't come to that, as I intend to lose her in the deep valleys to the north. Come and find us there.'

Ancel brought forward their mounts and the two knights of Avalon clambered into saddles. Their fatigued bodies were already drained by the exertions from the battles they had recently fought. Many others mirrored them and Godric thought he saw some retainers hurriedly feasting upon the magic imbued seeds they sometimes fed to the horses to enhance their endurance. However, their purpose managed to re-energise aching muscles and still bones. Over a dozen riders awaited them, their farewells having already been said during their talk with Aidan. Of the Lord of Avalon's followers, Gawain, Gervais, and Ancel would go to Avalon's aid. Isobel, Lancel and Efnysien would also accompany them, whilst a hardy band of Welsh warriors and Breton retainers would bolster their ranks.

Alain's own retinue looked horribly depleted. The friends and companions who would stay to fight at Alain's side appeared confident. Their smiles were not unwarranted, for they were undefeated in battle during their time fighting beneath Avalon's banner. From the caring Isolde to the boisterous Bayard, they were counted amongst some of the finest warriors in Britain and Godric was reluctant to part from them whilst Melusine's wolves closed in. Godric returned their smiles, noting that there was no trace of fear in their eyes.

As Godric fidgeted with his stirrups, Hugh Troll-Bane approached him from where he had finished bidding Hamon farewell. There was no doubt that Hugh would remain with Alain whilst his son rode with his own sworn-brothers. They had embraced each other and spoken in hushed whispers until the castellan kissed his son's forehead and walked away without another word, leaving a red-eyed Hamon behind him. Now he came to talk to his most devoted pupil.

'It will be down to you to face Bellême, but you know how to use this,' Hugh smiled, gesturing at the sheathed sword strapped to Godric's back, 'but remember that Bellême does also. A knight doesn't gain a reputation like his without it. Are you ready for the test, Dual-wielder?'

'Yes,' Godric replied firmly, for once deciding to discard his humble nature. The trial he had been training his body, mind, and magic for since arriving in Avalon had finally come. It was Bellême who had beaten and humiliated him before the powerful magnates of England; Bellême who had cost him his father's love and Bellême who now stood poised to bring destruction and death to Godric's home. However, Godric had been a mere child when he first confronted Bellême. Now, he was a knighted wizard whose name was already acquiring a reputation for courage and prowess in battle. The time had come to cross wands with the wizard who haunted his nightmares and Godric intended on making Bellême pay for every hurt he'd done to him.

'You're a good fighter,' Hugh admitted with a begrudging smile, 'I'm glad to see you've finally learned to accept it. Modesty is a rare quality in a warrior and a respectable one. But men do not become paladins without confidence or trust in their abilities. Godric Gryffindor has the skill to be far greater than any paladin who has come before. Remember that when you next find each other in battle.'

Godric felt tears whelm up in his eyes at Hugh's rare and hard won praise. The castellan smiled knowingly, then took Godric's hand and clasped it in his own, his expression shining with pride at the part he played in forging the man in front of him. With a final salute, Hugh stepped away and took his natural place by Alain's side. No more needed to be said between them.

The Lord of Avalon stood before the mounted band, casting spells upon the riders which he hoped would help them break through Melusine's encircling band of warriors undetected. When he was finally done, Alain addressed the knights and wizards who were riding to defend his magical fiefdom.

'The most ancient stronghold in Britain is about to be invaded,' Alain announced, 'let the magic and swords you carry defend Avalon from those who seek to lay waste to it. Ride on, my friends, and may the favour of all gods go with you.'

Hamon, his dented helmet once more strapped to his wounded head and with young Bran perched in the saddle behind him, threw back his head and howled to the skies, a war cry which was immediately taken up by his companions. The great clamour they made rose up over the woods, dispersing the scores of birds who had come to the clearing and startling Delwen, who it had been decided would ride with Gervais to Avalon. Their shouts did not go unheard, but no one in that clearing cared. Melusine would have seen the clouds of black smoke and the flocks of carrion birds and now she would be descending upon their location with swords, spears and dark magic. Only Godric and Salazar remained silent, unable to turn away from their former master.

'We'll come back,' Salazar swore passionately. He had been oddly subdued since Alain had bestowed the burden of leadership upon their shoulders.

'Avalon needs you more,' Alain warned them, 'only come back for us when your own battle is won. We'll ride north and try to lose the wolves in the hills. Search for my banner there.' Godric still sensed Salazar's lingering unease, although he was unsure if this was due to the responsibilities suddenly thrust upon him or whether the young wizard suspected that something in Alain's strategy was amiss.

Godric dismissed Salazar's foreboding misgivings. Instead, he regarded the friends he was leaving behind. Isolde, Bayard and all the others he had grown to love, faces he had known since childhood and whose encouragement and respect he had coveted since he first arrived in Avalon, driving him on to excel. They had responded to Godric's fervent efforts by shielding him from the evils of a brutal world and accepted him with a devotion which had very rarely been shown to him. It was loyalty which could only be found amongst warriors who were prepared to fight and die for each other. Standing at the Lord of Avalon's back, seemingly unconcerned with the challenges they faced, Godric found that he had no parting words for them, for he would have only betrayed his fears for their survival.

The sound of a sword scraping free from its scabbard echoed across the clearing as Godric drew his blade in one fluid motion and held it aloft in a final salute to his friends. Beaming at him, the Lord of Avalon and his companions mirrored the gesture, swords and wands rising to honour the riders who would return to fight for Avalon. Godric's gaze lingered on Alain for a moment longer, on the fair haired wizard who had welcomed him into a new world and who now flashed him the same warm smile he'd offered when he sat before a scared and beaten little boy and revealed the world of magic.

A new destiny had been conjured for Godric that night and with a final glance, the young knight's beheld the Lord of Avalon's great banner as it fluttered high above them in the morning breeze and made him smile forlornly. Then Godric was gone, spurring his horse into a gallop and threw up great clumps of mud into the air as he led his companions into the woods towards the English border. A great scourge was descending on Avalon, but reinforcements were riding to its defence, leaving the Lord of Avalon to face the She-Wolf alone.

* * *

Things are getting heated and Avalon is threatened.

Many apologies for the delay. Editing took ages, but I can finally say that **ALL** the remaining chapters are now complete. I'll be uploading the rest of them over the next week so I hope you all enjoy. As always, any reviews and follows are welcome and I'll try and get back to you as quickly as possible.

Until next time...


	36. Thirty-Five: Isle of Fire

**Isle of Fire**

The defenders of Avalon sped away from the clearing, leaving the Lord of Avalon and his loyal retainers in the woods behind them. None looked back. Their hearts were set on reaching Avalon before Bellême descended upon the castle and it wasn't long before they felt a brief chill soak through them as they broke through the enchantments Alain had constructed to trap the defeated raiders in the clearing.

Led by the astute Gawain, they followed long forgotten paths through the wooded hills. Yet, despite the protective charms cast upon them and which should have guaranteed that their flight was not hindered, the Enchantress's keen eyes soon noticed that they were being pursued. A dozen mounted men chased them, but the horses which Gervais bred proved superior, enduring the dangers of riding through densely wooded valleys until they descended from the mountainous terrain with a swiftness none of Melusine's followers could hope to match. A few stray crossbow bolts and spells were sent after them by unseen enemies lurking in the undergrowth, but they failed to sustain any injury or bring the company to a halt. Efnysien, his blood fuelled by his impetuous nature, was eager to turn back so that they could slaughter the miscreants with their own spells and spears.

Salazar overruled him, recognising the urgency of reaching Avalon before Bellême and knowing that the company could ill afford to sacrifice any of the few swords they could muster to defend Avalon, swords they could not waste on a worthless band of opportunistic mercenaries. Efnysien looked ready to argue until Godric waded into the quarrel in support of Salazar, forcing the Welshman to chunter sullenly about cowardice and dishonour.

Efnysien did have his uses, for he knew the Welsh hills and with Gawain's experience to assist him, they steered the band safely into the grassy lowlands. In their haste and due to the presence of Bellême's kinsmen on the Welsh border, the company was forced to seek passage across the Severn at a lower point where the great river flowed too fast for a mounted rider to cross safely without a vessel to carry them.

It was a treacherous place, with mud flats and tricky waters which had claimed many lives, but the company managed to persuade a few grime-splattered locals to guide them. Godric suspected that a retinue of armed warriors would have been sufficient enough to encourage the natives to lend them their aid. However, he still insisted on giving them what spare silver they had for their troubles, for the company would have stood no chance of navigating the unpredictable currents and clogging mud to reach the English bank; not without travelling along roads which would take them perilously close to the lands of their enemies.

Once they had crossed the Severn, the defenders of Avalon thundered south. Only once did the company seek a place to rest and as night fell around them, the weary band settling down and hoping to catch a few hours of troubled sleep before rising and riding on. Godric's slumber was plagued with a restlessness which hindered his search for rest. Fortunately, Salazar was also unable to sleep and soon sidled over to converse with his friend.

'We've been betrayed,' Salazar said in a hushed whisper, careful not to wake any of their companions. He needn't have feared, for being overheard when Hamon's snoring drowned out everything other than the incessant chirping of insects was almost impossible.

'But _who_ betrayed us?'

'I don't know,' Salazar hissed in frustration, 'wizards excel at treachery and perfected the art of betrayal and intrigue long ago. Whoever did it, I suspect that they will have needed some knowledge of Avalon to bypass our defences.'

'Then that only complicates matters,' Godric sighed, thinking back to the many guests the Lord and Lady of Avalon had hosted over his years on the island, 'Alain and Morwenna never secluded themselves.'

Salazar nodded, before cursing bitterly.

'I swear that if Avalon falls because of this…' The young wizard drifted into silence, his anger choking him. He didn't have to say more, for Godric knew his friend would seek revenge against those responsible for any hurt done to them.

Nothing more was said between them that night and shortly after Salazar's vehement promise, the two knights roused their companions and were soon back on the road, racing away towards the marshes which surrounded Alain's ancient stronghold. When they crested the hilly expanse north of Avalon's dense marshland, the company finally came to an abrupt halt. It was Salazar who broke the stunned silence by cursing in rage as his companions looked towards the horizon in horror.

They were greeted by the sight of a black cloud breaking through the mist; a cloud of ash and flame which swirled up to into the sky to cast a great shadow over the marshes, for Avalon was burning.

Yet, hope remained and Godric's companions needed no encouragement to spur their horses into a gallop until they reached the boundaries of Alain's fiefdom and plunged into Avalon's marshes. The wetlands were eerily silent and the cries of waterfowl and strange creatures had fallen quiet. The wizards amongst them shivered, for their magic could sense that the atmosphere around them felt wrong as if the ancient sorcery which had saturated the marshes for so long had been broken. But even their foreboding could not hamper the company boldly persevering as they cantered into the shrouded mists and riding along twisting paths towards where the Ferryman always waited to greet weary travellers.

Only to discover that the ancient watchman was gone.

The company wrenched on their reins when they saw it, gaping in shock. The Ferryman no longer stood at his ancient post. The Ferryman had fallen, it's trunk hewed by axes and spells so that half its willowy bulk lay broken and submerged beneath the marshland's stinking bogs. No traces of its old magic remained and no blue lights emerged to guide their way to Avalon. Hopelessness and despair battered them, fuelled by the acrid stench of burning ash and smoke tickled their senses.

Surprisingly, it was Salazar who could not resist venting his frustrations. He fell to his knees and repeatedly beat the moist earth with his fist, submerging it in the foul smelling water. He left it there, his strength seeping away and his thoughts beginning to succumb to the darkness as all hope seemed to drain from the company.

'What do we do now?' Isobel inquired in a defeated voice. She clearly thought that venturing into the surrounding mist unguided was not an appealing prospect.

'Isn't it obvious?' Efnysien spat into the marsh reeds, 'Avalon's doomed and we're fucked.'

'We have no other choice,' Godric growled testily. The sound of the Welshman's voice was beginning to grate on him and coinciding with the dire nature of their predicament, Godric failed miserably at hiding it.

'We bloody do,' Efnysien exclaimed, 'look, I hate Bellême and his Norman kin as much as the next man. But we've all heard of his reputation. Not even you, _Gryffindor_ , can hope to defeat that devil.'

'Then you think we should turn back?' Lancel asked, looking appalled at the mere notion of fleeing from battle.

Unnoticed by his squabbling companions, Salazar's brow furrowed in bemusement.

'What the…' Salazar murmured quietly, convinced that he had felt something suddenly stir from his still submerged hand. Unfortunately, his voice was lost in the rising maelstrom caused by the argument breaking out behind him.

'Face reality,' Efnysien argued, gesturing wildly at the mist around them, 'we're lost. There's no way through this mist and Avalon burns already. We're too late...'

'You yellow-bellied bastard,' Hamon growled darkly from where he stood beside the Ferryman's mutilated trunk. Efnysien would have cursed the Muggle for the insult, but as his hand twitched towards his concealed wand, the Welshman became aware of Gawain lurking at Hamon's shoulder. The archer, whose prowess with his great bow had contributed to him making a name for himself as a wizard-killer, shook his head inconspicuously as his fingers tenderly nursed beeswax into a bowstring, radiating a wild menace few could match. Gawain didn't say a word, but his presence alone deterred Efnysien from acting rashly.

'Godric,' said Salazar, his eyes widening in realisation as he felt another strange sensation stir in his hand again. A small ripple fluttered across the surface of the murky water in response to the painless throb. His friend didn't hear him, for Godric was glaring at Efnysien.

'We ride on,' Godric replied sternly,

'Who are you to issue orders to me?' Efnysien barked angrily, tearing his scowl away from Hamon so that he could confront Godric. The Welshman may have been older than Godric and broad in body, but the younger man still looked down on him and refused to be intimidated by Efnysien's blustering, 'your no lord who can treat us like elven slaves or a coterie of fools. Why do you deserve to lead us?'

'Godric is the best in battle,' Hamon asserted,

'It's true;' Isobel agreed sensibly, 'in our time together, Gryffindor has defeated more enemies and won a reputation none of us can match.' Her retainers nodded their support, although her brother Lancel briefly looked conflicted. The valiant Breton had fought in many conflicts in his native homeland and he was unused to having such glowing praise heaped on the shoulders of another man, let alone a potential rival. Reluctant to outwardly appear irked at his own sister's support for Godri's claim to the mantle of leadership before his own, he still remained too noble to speak out, for he was the kind of wizard who spoke through actions rather than words. In comparison, Efnysien could not hide his displeasure,

'He's not even born to lead,' Efnysien continued to rant, sneering at the younger man, 'it's true isn't it? I once heard Lord Gofanon confide in my father. Gryffindor may be the nephew of the Lord of Avalon, but his blood is not pure.'

'The outburst provoked a rumble of anger from the onlookers, especially from the men of Avalon. The Enchantress groaned, shaking her head in exasperation at the Welshman's folly.

'You certainly live up to your namesake Efnysien,' she berated him, 'the kinsman of Bran the Blessed may have been brave in battle, but he was also foolish beyond belief. Remember that it was his selfish nature led to the ruin of everyone he cared for, even himself.'

Efnysien only heard half of the Breton witch's reprimand. The rest was lost as Godric reached him. Taller and stronger than his would-be rival, Godric grabbed the Welshman by his cloak and hauled him to the edge of the boggy water. Efnysien's foot splashed into the marsh, disturbing an unseen presence which slithered away with a vicious snarl. A yelp escaped the Welshman as he hastily retrieved his foot from the water, gulping in alarm.

'I do not want a quarrel with you,' Godric growled curtly, 'nor do I pursue any rivalry. But I was chosen by my uncle to lead you and I will neither betray Lord Alain's trust nor disregard the duty he has burdened me with. One day, Efnysien, you will lead your own retainers, but not today…'

The onlookers gawped in shock at Godric's forceful display. None of Efnysien's Welsh kinsmen moved to interfere on his behalf.

'Pureblood or not, I lead here,' Godric continued unchecked, 'and Salazar with me. So hold your tongue and prove your courage.'

'And if I don't?' Efnysien muttered mulishly, stubbornly refusing to heed Godric's warning.

'If you hinder us,' Godric promised, his own anger and frustration with the Welshman momentarily getting the better of him, 'then I'll rip it out and I'll shove my sword so far up your arse that the blade will replace it.'

Efnysien gasped and the rest of their companions did the same. They were all rendered speechless, for the humble man they knew Godric to be had been replaced by a warrior who was confident with his ironclad will. Having never seen his misplaced rival in battle, it was the first time Efnysien had witnessed this side of Avalon's youngest knight and his threat and intimidating presence robbed the Welshman of any argument he was tempted to make. Silence fell over the company, who wallowed in despair at the infighting which would only serve to strengthen Bellême and make their momentous task even more difficult.

'Godric,' Salazar beckoned again and this time his urgent tone succeeded in breaking through his friend's anger. Shoving a spluttering Efnysien away, Godric went to Salazar and knelt amongst the reeds beside him, the rest of their companions clustering behind them. Salazar barely noticed their arrival, for he was staring in disbelief at where his hand disappeared beneath the water's surface and where an orb of flickering violet light slowly emerged from the deeps. The flaming ball of light omitted a spectral glow as it broke through the bog to hang low over the rippling water. It was duller than Godric had ever seen it, but it was there, a light to guide them in the shrouding darkness.

Not all of Avalon's magic had been destroyed and memories of Morwenna's blessing as she scarred his palm during his knighting ceremony came flooding back to Godric.

" _You have been blessed by the Sacred Isle and your heart will forever sense its pull, whether as a place to take rest or to defend it when Avalon calls for aid_."

What the Lady of Avalon had sworn proved to be true and Salazar's scar summoned the stricken magic of the Ferryman to guide them. Incredulous laughter broke out as hands clapped Salazar on the back and praised his intelligence. Leaving their horses beside the fallen stump, the company gathered their weapons and strode into the mists.

The going was slow, punctuated by Salazar being forced to place his scarred hand back into the freezing swamps to once again summon the ailing spirits as their spectral brethren shimmered and died in the company's wake, their ancient duties fulfilled. However, when the Isle of Apples finally loomed out of the veil of mist and smoke, the company paused briefly as those who had never seen the fabled land marvelled at the sight before them. Efnysien was amongst them, fleetingly putting aside his brooding mood to gaze in wonder at the towering island.

'The kingdom of my ancestors,' he breathed disbelievingly, 'I never thought I'd be blessed enough to see it.' The Bretons murmured their agreement, for their own heritage was born from the same realms of myth as their Welsh cousins.

However, an unexpected and unwelcome surprise awaited them.

Crouching and hiding amongst the wetland undergrowth, they could see six guards lurking at the foot of the path which climbed to Avalon's summit. The would-be defenders outnumbered the few men Bellême had left at the island's foot, but there were enough men-at-arms guarding the path to make a fight of it. Godric and his companions could not give battle, for the sound of clashing weapons would alert the remainder of Bellême's men to their presence, a risk they could not take if they were to reach the castle and the unknown allies Alain had commanded them to summon.

Once discovered, Godric knew that the enemy would not rush down the hill to face them. Bellême was too experienced a war leader to sacrifice the advantage of the summit. Instead, he would wait for Godric and his companions to fight their way to the castle through spells and swords to where exhausted from clambering up the steep whilst defending against the missiles hurled at them, they would be swiftly slaughtered. If they wished to reach the white castle alive, then they would have to take a different road.

Leaving Salazar and Isobel to weave the enchantments which would ensure that they wouldn't be discovered by the soldiers nearby, Godric put the question to the company.

'What other paths?' Gervais asked in exasperation when Godric voiced their dilemma, 'they're guiding the only road to Avalon unless you mean to climb the crag? Salazar nodded, concurring with Gervais.

'I'm not clambering up Eira's fall,' Salazar remarked, 'the chances of us all reaching the summit unscathed is impossible. We'd be too exhausted from scaling the crag, even if we used magic to aid us.'

'Then it is hopeless,' Lancel sighed bleakly, 'we have already lost.'

'No,' Godric interjected, 'there is another way.'

'Then enlighten us?' Efnysien growled sharply, his hands trembling and barely able to contain their reckless desire to start throwing spells at the Norman guards. Godric didn't answer. He was gazing at his closest friends, waiting for them to reach the same conclusion. Surprisingly, it dawned on Hamon first.

'The caves,' he exclaimed and despite it being years since their venture into the deeps below Avalon, the young knight shuddered in dismay at the memory. Godric saw Salazar visibly tense, his skin paling.

'Caves?' Efnysien asked, vexed by their silence as everyone watched the three knights of Avalon curiously.

'Merlin's caves,' Salazar breathed,

'You can't mean,' Isobel gasped, unable to believe that such an ancient legend was true, 'surely they're just a myth?'

'No,' Salazar continued, all enthusiasm for the venture draining from him, 'we've seen them. As children, we once delved into their depths and chanced our luck with the spirits there.'

'Then what is stopping us?' Lancel asked and a murmur of agreement ran through the gathered retainers, 'if children can survive it, then there is no reason why armed warriors should fear it.'

'It's what dwells there that we fear,' Godric replied ominously, 'and the reason we only visited the caves once.'

'We're all blooded, even the woman,' Efnysien grunted, ignoring the withering look Isobel levelled at him, in order to glare at Godric; who the Welshman didn't consider to have reached manhood. However, having already made his feelings about their rivalry, Godric chose to dismiss the unsubtle insult for more pressing concerns, 'I'm sure whatever monsters inhabit these caves will be no match for us.'

'Not _these_ creatures,' Salazar replied, staring at Efnysien without a trace of his usual contempt, 'these are creatures so evil that no spell works against them; monsters who suck all the joy from the world. Look at Godric; even the bravest amongst us fear to tread in Merlin's caves again, for he knows that the curses spun by Nimue the Last still lurk in the dark, as potent as the day she cast them in order to ensnare the greatest wizard to ever be born and keep her evil deeds secret.'

This time, a shudder of fear for the unknown ran through the crowd.

'I reckon we should leave these ancient spirits be,' Gervais muttered uneasily, whilst Delwen nodded fervently, scooting closer as the horse breeder slung an arm protectively across the girl's shoulders protectively.

'We have no choice,' Salazar said sourly, 'Bellême's followers are guarding the road to the gate and the glades have been torched. Merlin's caves have remained hidden for centuries, with only an unfortunate few ever discovering them since their founder's murder. I doubt a stranger like Bellême would have found them. If we are to defend Avalon, then it is the only way.'

'Then lead on, Slytherin,' Lancel finally spoke up, waving the younger wizard ahead.

The rest of the company nodded and gripped their weapons tightly, ready to dare the mysterious caves, however unwillingly. If it was the only way, then honour demanded they walk it.

'Can you remember where the entrance is?' Hamon asked his friend as the warriors looked on expectantly. Salazar hesitated, before reluctantly shaking his head, seemingly lost.

'I know where it is,' Godric revealed, 'or I will do when I see it. I engraved a mark in a nearby tree, just in case we ever needed it again.'

The group edged away from the road, skirting around the wooded foot of the island and used the trees and mists to shroud them until they came upon the solitary willow tree. Clearing away the thorns and nettles with spells and spears, Godric finally beheld the bark he'd marked that long ago day and the entrance to Merlin's caves which lay behind it. The band eyed the dark mouth cautiously, half expecting one of the monsters they'd been told about to leap out at them and it seemed to breathe an unnerving aura of evil and uncertainty. But they were warriors who had rode with the Lord of Avalon to war and so they forced themselves to summon the courage to face the dangers which skulked unseen in the dark.

'If you hear whispering,' Salazar said as he lit his wand and led the way into the enveloping darkness, 'speak out and keep a close eye on the person in front of you. Whatever you do, do not follow it.' Those who had never before entered the labyrinth of caves looked unnerved by the warning, determined to heed Salazar's advice. At the back of the armed band, Godric and Hamon exchanged a knowing glance and rested their hands on their sheathed swords. They lingered at the rear of the band to ensure that no one deviated from the path or fell behind, lured away by whatever foul creatures wished to feast upon them.

The young knights of Avalon had forgotten how dark Merlin's caves were, for not even the lights beaming from their wands seemed able to pierce the clogging darkness far. However, the group was not disheartened and they pushed on, probing further into the murky depths of the caves. The atmosphere surrounding them began to chill their very bones as Salazar followed the sound of falling water in his search for the great cavern which lay at the heart of Merlin's subterranean labyrinth.

Regardless of the prevalent danger, the three young men who had walked this path before had also forgotten the ethereal beauty the caves possessed. Or they had been too young to fully appreciate it. The pale light conjured by their wands danced across the millions of small crystals embedded in the damp rocks and the wizards amongst them sensed the sorcery which saturated the ancient caves. Eyes widened in awe as they tread by, many gasps of wonder issued from them. This was especially true when Salazar led them out of the constricting tunnel and beheld the great, glittering cavern. They hesitated for a brief moment, basking in a spectacle that few had ever dreamed of witnessing.

A sudden whispering disturbed the caves and gazes which had only just been shining in wonder contorted in alarm. The band turned as one to peer towards a tunnel which disappeared into the dark and the source of the whispers. Staring at it, Godric felt a shiver run down his spine at the memory of where the echoes came from and the phantom Nimue had placed there to guard her murderous secret. Salazar alone barely spared the tunnel a glance, choosing to scan the great cavern for any signs of the evil they thrived in the caves. Salazar frowned when he noticed that the water pooled at the caverns foot appeared far shallower than he remembered, whilst the rocks which lay the furthest away from any falling water were more slippery and far damper than any natural occurrence could have caused. Magic had been used here, for these caves had recently been touched by an old and powerful magic. Salazar could sense it clearly and shivered as the magic rattled him.

'The whispers,' Isobel croaked as she felt the pull it had on her heart, 'where does it lead?'

'The Tomb of Merlin,' Salazar replied absentmindedly, looking up at the weaving flight of stairs carved into the rocks. He made to climb them, but Lancel, Efnysien and a number of retainers did not follow him. They stood frozen, still staring at the tunnel from where the whispers issued. Godric tensed and the grip on his sword tightened, ready to use his strength to intervene if any of their company chose to give their hearts the fate the whispers endorsed.

Beside him, Bran shifted in fear, forcing Hamon to place a reassuring arm around the boy to calm him. Bran may be a Muggle, but he had heard the name of Merlin in the folk tales the village elders once sang. He was also old enough to recognise the nervousness which permeated the warriors around him, so he was grateful when an equally frightened Delwen clasped his arm and cowered beside him.

'This is wrong,' Gawain grunted, making his displeasure and unease known, 'the magic here is unnatural. The dead should be left to their sleep. We should go…'

'The Tomb of Merlin?' Efnysien repeated, gawking at the Welsh archer, 'it must be a mystical sight to behold, one filled with countless treasures. All wizards would envy us if they learned we had seen it?' Lancel supported him, his eyes glazed with wonder and his enthusiasm to pursue it obvious.

'No,' Salazar snapped sharply, 'I have seen it and I promise that the treasures said to be there is nothing but a legend spun by bards. They do not exist and all you'll find there are the dark enchantments Nimue left there. If you give your heart to the whispers, then you will meet your death. Follow me; better to die with honour in battle than to be lured into the dark and taken by the creatures who prowl these tunnels.'

Many of their companions looked prepared to argue. However, it was Isobel who put an end to any arguments before they materialised. The Enchantress cuffed her brother hard around the head with a blow which instantly dispelled any appeal Lancel had for seeking out the Tomb of Merlin.

'Fools,' she snapped harshly, glaring at the wizards and retainers gathered around her, 'you all yearn for honour, but what renown can be acquired by searching these caves for the tomb of a bygone hero? Avalon, the sacred stronghold of magical Britain, is besieged. Honour lies in defending it, for the Lord of Avalon has chosen us to fight for him. Lead on Knight of Avalon.'

Isobel's speech had the desired outcome, snapping those who had fallen under the allure of Nimue's spell from their lapse in wisdom. Her erstwhile lover, a gifted orator, smiled in appreciation.

'Well said,' he praised her sincerely. Isobel merely shrugged and gestured for Salazar to lead them to the castle. They trudged on, clambering slowly up the narrow stairway as it rose into the darkness above them. Delwen cowered further into Gervais's side, although Bran proved braver, despite his eagerness to reach the castle being influenced more by a desire to leave the ghosts of Avalon behind them.

Hamon rustled the young boy's hair fondly. Then he began to sing. Hamon was no great bard, but he did not need to be. It was an old battle song he had learned from his Welsh comrades, a rousing song of ancient warriors on the eve of long forgotten clashes. Many of their companions appeared to know the song, for as more voices rose to join the singing, it began to drown out the enchanting whispers and the power behind Nimue's magical allure slowly began to wane in response to their rallying courage. Godric slapped his friend's back, which Hamon answered with a grin. Godric thought it was strange how the closer they came to a fight, the better Hamon's spirits became. He supposed that this was a consequence of Hamon's time under Bayard's raucous influence, as well as sharing the same blood as a Muggle who once dared to slay a troll.

Higher and higher they climbed, creeping through slime-strewn passageways as they weaved along the rim of the cavern, carefully avoiding the treacherous edge so that no one slipped into the void and fell to their death.

Finally, the company reached the place Salazar had been searching for. A small beam of light shone down from the glittering, crystal studded rocks above them and when Salazar enlightened the company that they had reached their destination, the relief was audible. Godric smiled ruefully, for it appeared that their entrance to Merlin's caves had escaped Morwenna's stringent searches, although Godric had to admit that the risk of rousing the Lady of Avalon's wrath was enough to dispel any desire to find it again.

'What is this?' Efnysien said, eying the ray of light skeptically.

'The light hails from Avalon's cellars,' Salazar told him, 'that's a broken slab above us. If we prise it open, it should be big enough for a grown man to pass through.'

'Ah,' Gervais mumbled, unable to resist a smirk, 'so this was why Lady Morwenna had Godric shovelling shit for weeks.'

Hamon chuckled at the memory, before taking a long spear from a Welsh retainer and prised the slab from its resting place in a cascade of dust and the grinding of stone. Then the company used magic to levitate themselves into the gap.

Godric went first, followed closely by Hamon. As the Muggle knight knelt down and offered to assist those entering the chilling cellar behind them, Godric rushed straight to the damp and web-covered stairs. Over the scurrying of startled mice, Godric could hear screams rebounding off the walls and intermingled with angry shouts between the hammering of spells against reinforced wood. Godric felt the first surge of rage threaten to overwhelm him and it took all of his willpower not to leap up the stairs and bring death to those who defiled his home.

A hand on Godric's shoulder managed to ease some of his mounting fury. Salazar was beside him, the last of the company to escape the caves. Now he stood with his wand drawn and with all their armed comrades waiting nervously behind him, waiting for Godric to lead them on. Salazar had led the group this far and successfully navigated the crystal caves with all its dangers, but it was Godric who they would follow into battle.

Without a word, the two friends began to creep up the cellar stairs, taking care to make as little noise as possible so that they would not alert any nearby soldiers to their presence. However, when a great crack thundered above them, causing the ground to tremor and groan in reply, the warband hurried along with more urgency. No attention was given to the clamour of pounding feet and spear shafts bouncing off stone, for the terrified cries of trapped souls drowned out all their reason and spurred the rescuers towards the great hall.

Reaching the summit of their climb, they sprinted on until they reached a large tapestry which parted the cellar's corridor from Alain's great hall. Godric unsheathed his sword and looked ready to charge through the tapestry when Salazar came to an abrupt halt and held out an arm to block his friend's rash progress. Their companions slowed to a halt, whilst Godric gazed questioningly at his sworn brother. Salazar shook his head again and raised a finger to his lips, commanding those around him to remain silent.

The wizard was the only one who appeared to have maintained control of his senses and thought ahead to the imminent battle, already realising the pitfalls of charging recklessly into a fight and sacrificing the element of surprise. Then he gripped Godric's mailed suit and waved him forward until the pair stood at each end of the woven veil. Pressing their faces against the cold stone, Godric and Salazar stared out through the narrow parting between the tapestry and the wall. Well-hidden, they observed the confrontation unfolding in Avalon's great hall.

The survivors of Avalon's household cowered beside the high dais. They were mainly the women or young servants and Godric recognised Ella and Belin amongst them, holding an axe and hunting spear which they barely looked capable of wielding. The young knight felt his dread spreading when he saw no sign of Morwenna, Yusuf, Lambert or the retainers Alain had left to defend Avalon from an attack they were skeptical would ever come. A number of other faces were missing and Godric prayed that it wasn't their harrowing screams which continued to echo off Avalon's walls.

Godric shook his head and did his best to distract the rising dread by shifting his gaze towards the threshold of the great hall. It had the opposite effect. He instantly paled, his heart pounding painfully in his chest at what he saw. For Rowena stood alone before the hall's door. Her raven hair was loose and wild, her blue robes dishevelled and torn, whilst her skin was so pale that it seemed all her blood had drained away. Her elegant wand was clutched in a trembling hand by her side. She had her back to those she shielded, facing a doorway which now lay in ruins. The stone table of Arthur which had once adorned the hall's rafters, but now lay collapsed in two great halves at the hall's threshold amongst the rubble of half the door arch.

It was clear that Rowena had tried to barricade the door. However, it would take more than an ancient ornament to withstand the magic of the menace who now stood framed by the broken threshold. For Sir Robert of Bellême had come to Avalon and he had brought death with him.

Bellême approached Rowena slowly, stepping over the unmoving body of one of his men-at-arms. The wizard didn't spare his fallen follower a glance, for his steely gaze was fixed upon Rowena with the cold, calculating gaze a prowling wolf would level at its prey. Silently, Bellême's followers edged into the hall behind their master, both magical and Muggle, and began to forge a threatening wall of swords, shields, spears, and wands to face the inhabitants of Avalon.

'Don't come any closer,' Rowena cried. Godric regained his senses in the same moment, his body twitching as he made to storm into the hall and protect his friends. But again, Salazar checked him. The older wizard shoved him back roughly,

'Wait,' Salazar hissed quietly when Godric glared at him incredulously. Nevertheless, Godric obeyed his friend, despite his heart roaring in favour of action. They both turned back, only to discover that Bellême had come to a halt and now stood ten yards away from the young maiden who challenged him. Bloodied sword

'This is what has defied me?' Bellême finally said, his eyes on Rowena and his expression betraying something akin to amusement, 'this rabble of women and children?'

'It is the magic of Avalon which has defied you,' Rowena said, and Godric gulped when he heard the fear and nervousness she was trying so hard to mask, 'a sacred magic that you have dared to defile…'

'I do not fear the magic of long dead wizards,' Bellême replied blandly, 'nor do I fear the ancient wards of an island whose true power was lost after the fall of Merlin. I certainly do not fear little girls.'

'This _little girl_ has stopped your men from entering this hall ...'

'We still broke through,' Bellême scoffed, 'but what do you think your feeble defiance has achieved? My men's lust for blood has only risen and the screams of your people are a consequence of it.'

'It has given us hope,' Rowena countered,

'Hope?' Bellême chuckled, 'your last defence is hope? If you were a more powerful witch, then I may have found you a nuisance. After all, you are very bold for such a young witch. But I don't know you, so I doubt you're anything more than an impoverished waif. Unless the Cripple has taken another stray under his wing now that those young fools of his have been knighted? He really does have no pride.'

Rowena bristled at the insult,

'Alain of Avalon is a better wizard than you'll ever be,' Rowena sniped icily.

'Lord,' a harried man-at-arms slipped through the fallen barricade and Godric recognised the angelic features of one of the Villon brothers, Bellême's most loyal followers. Whilst he had a vicious gash in his cheek which was bleeding profusely, there was a triumphant smile on his face as he held out a scroll, 'we've found it, Lord.'

Bellême prised the scroll from Villon's hands without taking his eyes from the stubbornly defiant Rowena.

'It took you long enough,' Bellême said, 'you're sure this is the scroll?'

'Yes, Lord,

'The scholar told you so?'

'No, Lord,' Villon sneered, 'he's dead. Caused a little trouble when we burst in. The bastard killed Old Eudo and wounded Ulric badly before I gutted him.'

'So if the scholars dead?' Bellême demanded emotionlessly, 'how can you be sure?'

'Jean swore it was, Lord, and he reads in more languages than any of us.'

'Good,' Bellême said before he beckoned his brother forward. Philip of Bellême stepped out from the armed band and took the scroll from his brother's hand,

'Does he speak the truth, brother?' Philip looked unsure. He drew a dagger from his belt, sliced open the wax seal and quickly scanned its contents.

'Yes, brother,' he finally agreed and Bellême nodded in satisfaction.

'Then take it to the Lady Melusine,' he instructed his brother, 'and tell her that all debts are paid.' Philip looked bemused by the order, but nevertheless followed his brother's command by swiftly leaving the hall. Villon's predatory gaze landed upon the waiting household,

'What should we do with the rest, Lord?'

'Burn this place,' Bellême growled coolly,

'No!' Rowena exclaimed loudly. She looked horrified at Bellême's command, although tears were already streaming down her cheeks from the devastating news that Yusuf was dead.

'No?' Bellême asked her inquisitively, 'what is it to you, little maiden?'

'All the knowledge of Britain is here,' said Rowena desperately, before gesturing at those who cowered behind her, 'and these people have done nothing wrong. Would you have their blood on your hand?'

'I have no need of it,' Bellême shrugged, 'those women and children at your back are worth far more to me than the writings of other wizards. My men must be rewarded…'

'Let them go!' Rowena said as many of Avalon's trapped household wailed in despair at such a fate.

'It doesn't work like that,' Bellême told her, sounding amused, 'my men have fought and died for me. I must repay their loyalty and I have promised them the wealth of Avalon in gold and slaves in return. You are all the spoils of war, little one.'

'You will enslave us?' Rowena asked,

'Yes,' Bellême said indifferently, 'although my men must first sake their appetites. The survivors will be our slaves, or will be sold on to crueller masters.'

'You heartless dog,' Rowena suddenly snarled angrily, her rage fuelled by the fate in store for them, 'what honour is there in making war on women and children?'

'None at all,' Bellême surprisingly agreed, a subtle sardonic smile dancing at the corners of his lips, 'but I still enjoy it.'

'You are the worst kind of wizard!'

Godric closed his eyes and cursed beneath his breath. Rowena stood at the mercy of a notoriously amoral wizard and she chose to insult him. The young knight slowly drew his sword, the blade coming free with a hiss.

'I have thought of another fate for you,' Bellême said, his voice now devoid of all trace of humour.

'You do not have to tell me,' Rowena snapped, 'you have already promised to let your men take us as they want…'

'Rape has never stirred my blood as it does other men,' Bellême shot back darkly, 'I've never been fond of such things. I have other ways of making women scream.'

Rowena glare intensified at Bellême's threat and her magical aura became almost palpable. The young maiden stood tall, the air around her crackling.

'I am Rowena Ravenclaw,' Rowena declared proudly, her clear voice no longer betraying her fear, 'a descendant of Lailoken. You may only see a girl before you, but the blood of a score of great witches runs in me. You can beat me, enslave me and kill me. But I promise that if you do not spare the lives of these people, then I'll make sure you fear me before I fall.'

Godric's frustrations with Rowena fell away with every defiant word she declared. He marvelled at the way she challenged the greatest fae-knight in Britain, shielding the survivors of Avalon like a lioness defending her den and promising Bellême that she would do all in her power to inflict damage upon him before she died. In that moment of courage, Godric had never admired Rowena more.

The gathering wolves laughed at her bravery. Bellême did not. Instead, as he had done to Godric during the younger man's duel on Ynys Mon, he levelled Rowena with a calculating glare.

'You are as foolish as that craven worm you call a father,' Bellême growled, letting his opponent know that he now knew her.

'I am a Ravenclaw,' Rowena reiterated, bristling at the insult.

'A noble bloodline,' Bellême said, before spitting onto the trampled rushes.

'Purer than most,' Rowena shot back proudly.

'Perhaps it is not so surprising that you have defied us for so long,' Bellême admitted impassively, 'many of my men carry wounds inflicted by your wand and you have delayed our victory long enough. You will not deny us our spoils…'

'I will bring this hall down and bury us all before I let you touch them.'

'Brave words,' Bellême sneered, 'but such insolence is pointless. No one is coming to save you. By now, Alain of Avalon will be dead, as are all those fools who ride in his retinue. Lady Melusine will have seen to that, whilst I was tasked with destroying his household. I killed his lady…'

This provoked more cries of anguish from survivors. Godric heard an intake of breath from Salazar and felt his own body tense at Bellême's confession, whilst their companions clutched their weapons in anticipation for the fight they knew was not far away. Refusing to dwell on what Bellême had said, Godric didn't need any prompting from his friends as he drew his wand and pressed it against the stone of Avalon's keep. Closing his eyes, Godric paused to channel his magic and cast the spell that Alain had claimed would summon magical defenders to aid them in their battle.

 _'Piertotum Locomotor,'_ he breathed softly. A light was emitted from the tip of his wand and permeated the stone. It shone for a heartbeat, before disappearing into the cracks. Godric's brow furrowed, for nothing happened and he had no way of telling if the spell had worked or what allies had been summoned. His attention returned to the confrontation between Rowena and Bellême and all he could do was hope that his magic had not failed him.

'…I torched his castle and soon the name of Alain of Avalon will be forgotten, never to be remembered in the annals of history. Now, listen to me, girl. If you lower your wand and kneel at my feet, then I may spare your life.'

'I bow to no one!' Rowena snarled defiantly despite the tears which streamed down her face. As men licked their lips and sensed an imminent release from the tension, Godric realised that if his heart had not already belonged to Rowena, then surely it would after seeing her now. Bellême watched her strangely,

'You remind me of my mother,' the Norman baron said, 'she was also an extraordinary woman who did not bend to the will of men.'

'I think not,' Rowena snapped, her face twisted in revulsion, 'what evil beast did she have to lie with to give birth to a cowardly creature like you. If the Lord of Avalon is dead, then at least his honour and reputation will far surpass that of a loathsome worm who takes his sword to women and children.'

For the first time since their confrontation had begun, anger shone from Bellême's lifeless eyes and his bloodied sword quivered in his hand.

'Lower your wand,' he ordered Rowena.

'I'd rather die,' she retorted fiercely,

'You won't die,' Bellême told her softly, 'I have watched maids endure immeasurable torture for days without succumbing to death. My dungeons echo with the screams of their torment. After insulting my mother, I promise that I have worse in store for you.'

'I will never yield,' Rowena spat and her body tensed. Unnoticed, several men-at-arms who were standing beside the broken hall door cast nervous and bemused glances behind them as a fresh wave of screams and shouts of alarm echoed off the walls from beyond Avalon's walls. The sound was lost upon Bellême as he glared malevolently at the maiden before him.

'I will enjoy breaking you,' he promised her and threat sent a chill cascading down Godric's spine, sparking his rage. Godric would not tolerate Rowena being threatened, 'I will make you scream…'

A strange stillness descended upon the great hall. Then Bellême struck and Rowena, momentarily distracted by the vile man's threat, could do nothing. There was only time for Rowena's eyes to widen in surprise at how far Bellême's prowess with a wand outmatched her own as a violent red spell burst into life and hurtled towards the stricken witch, who had no hope to shield against it.

Rowena watched the spell come, knowing that her defiant resistance was over as Avalon's remaining inhabitants cried out in horror and a voice suddenly roared louder than all others.

'AVALON!'


	37. Thirty-Six: The Battle-Haze

**The Battle-Haze**

The blood red spell hurtled across Avalon's hall and Rowena knew that there was no way of escaping it. Bellême was too quick for her, for Rowena's wand had barely begun to conjure its own shield before her opponent's spell cracked viciously into life. Bellême had spent almost three decades honing his skills as a knighted wizard and the young witch could not match him. Her eyes could not move away from the curse as it reached out to strike her down and doom the people she had sworn to protect to the death.

 _Crack!_

It never reached Rowena, for it was intercepted by the hulking figure of a warrior carved from stone. The great statue of the warlord Arthur suddenly sprung to life and leaped from its ancient pedestal, crashing in front of the young witch to impede the spell which did little more than scorch its sculptured form. Rowena stared in amazement at her saviour as the towering monolith stood tall, raising its stone sword and daring the invaders of Avalon to attack. Great gasps escaped the lips of everyone who gathered in the great hall. Bellême said nothing, but his next spell died upon his lips at the miraculous of such an unlooked for and otherworldly opponent.

A deafening shout rose to the rafters and jolted everyone from their shock.

'AVALON!'

Cries of alarm and jubilation resounded around the hall as Godric, with a sword and wand clasped in his hands, flung aside the remnants of the battered tapestry and shattered the silence with a roar. The knight of Avalon didn't hesitate, unleashing his fury as he charged into Bellême's stunned followers who clustered around their master and who now turned in shock to face their assailant.

'Avalon!' the shout echoed again as Salazar, Hamon and all their comrades took up Godric's cry, bursting from the cellar in Godric's wake to bring the battle to the men who had dared to invade sacred Avalon.

'Avalon!' the survivors of Bellême's initial attack answered their rescuers with a call of their own, seizing whatever weapons were at hand and surging towards the soldiers with keening screams and vengeful hearts. The fury of Avalon was set loose and its people would not be felled or enslaved without a fight. Shouts of alarm soon turned to shrieks of terror as another four towering stone golems, warriors of Arthur's ancient brotherhood, answered Godric's call to arms by leaping amongst the men-at-arms and wreaking havoc. The screams of the wounded soon joined the clamour, for the stone-warriors immediately began to strike out at their enemies. More cries rose up beyond Avalon's hall as more statues tasked with protecting the island, springing to life and falling upon the invaders, breaking bones and tearing flesh.

In the midst of the chaos, Rowena cried out Godric's name in heartfelt relief. But of all those in Avalon's hall who was rendered witless by the ensuing anarchy, it was Bellême who recovered swiftest. Bellême's eyes seemed deadened to the deadly struggle, a lifeless gaze which only brightened when they landed on the young knight charging recklessly into the throng. Raising his wand, Bellême flung another curse at the distracted Rowena, only for Stone-Arthur to bet the spell aside with a hand that exploded into dust as the curse struck it.

The man-at-arms standing beside Bellême burst forward, crying out as he raised his sword and prepared to hack Rowena down. However, the towering monolith was there to meet him, the remaining arm turning the blade aside before Stone-Arthur struck out with its own powerful terrible strength, striking the man with such a blow that the man-at-arms was thrown against the far wall, where his broken body crumpled to the ground. Sensing an opening, Bellême sent another spell flying past the distracted statue, but Rowena hurriedly summoned a shield charm to block it in a shower of sparks. Turning away from the dead, Stone-Arthur surged towards Bellême, who was forced forget Rowena as he met the hulking monolith with more spells.

As Bellême squandered his revenge, Godric finally reached the invaders and threw himself at them in a frenzy of sword blows and furious spells. The thrill of the melee fuelled Godric's blood and pushed him on to unleash his anger on his first opponent. Godric bellowed with the joy of it, a wolf amongst dazed sheep. The man offered little resistance, still gaping in horror as a mailed warrior charged towards him. Godric recognised fear in the man's eyes, relished its presence and knew that the soldier's life was his to take. Godric's spell hammered him aside, tearing the soldier's life from him. But the young knight had no time to savour his victory, for another man-at-arms recovered his wits quickly. He made to engage Godric, only for a feathered shaft loosed from Gawain's great bow punctured through the soldier's mailed gambeson, killing him instantly.

He fell with a mewling gasp and another soldier took his place, hacking out at the young wizard. Godric parried the blade and struck out, severing several fingers from the man's sword-hand. The soldier cried out at the sudden pain, reeling away into Hamon's path, whose spear skewered the man through the groin with enough force to lift him off his feet.

More combatants entered the fray, but Bellême's followers were hardened veterans of many raids and their wits returned quickly. They answered the frenzied assault with a savagery that they had become famed for. Rowena's handmaiden Fiona, screaming a weird keening sound as she jabbed at a knight with a spit, was thrown to the floor before a spell silenced her cries forever. Her killer's cruel laughter was cut short, for Salazar was soon upon him. Salazar's first barrage of spells was wasted on a shield and his opponent, grinning madly, made to respond with a deadly curse. However, a scream of agony was torn from his throat when a conjured viper slithered past Fiona's gawping corpse and buried its fangs in the man's ankle. The wizard grimaced in pain and severed the viper in half with a cutting curse. Salazar needed no other opening and his next spell cut the wizard down in a splatter of blood.

Godric pushed further into the fight, carving a path towards Bellême, who was still battling the flailing stone figure. He heard Isobel cry out in pain, but had no chance to see if she lived, for another man-at-arms approached him and sought to shield his liege lord by barring Godric's way. The man stood little chance, for Godric was consumed with the battle-haze and he fought with a heroism reminiscent of the champions of legend. But there was no glory or chivalry here and Godric hacked the man down mercilessly, then stepped over the bleeding corpse and plowed into the press of fighting men, intending on reaching Bellême.

Lost to the madness of his ancestors, Godric was unaware of Rowena entering the fight. The witch shielded a pair of young servants before turning to face the challenge roared by an oncoming Muggle. She wasted a spell on the man's raised shield and flung herself hastily aside to avoid the wild swing of the Muggle's sword. The man-at-arms snarled and came at her again, but Rowena was already rolling to her feet and her mind was far brighter than her assailant's.

With a graceful flick, Rowena transfigured the man's shield into a frothing and ferocious hound. Suddenly finding a snarling beast in the place where his shield had once been, the knight yelped in surprise and terror as the hound immediately began to savage the arm that held it. And another wave of the witch's wand tossed the knight aside as if he had been flung by a great siege engine. Rowena didn't wait to see him land, for she was already moving further into the fray in a desperate bid to reach Godric's side.

Others were not as fortunate. Ancel was dead, cut down in the opening moments of the chaotic contest. Two of Efnysien's kinsmen and a Breton retainer also lay slain, their blood pooling amongst the trampled rushes. The battle raged on above them, the wounded dismissing their own injuries in a desperate effort to aid their struggling companions. Fighting alongside them, the statue of Gwalchavard the Fair fell, whilst stone embodiment of Culhwch succumbed to a hail of spell work, crushing a man in its great hands even as his flailing limbs crumbled into dust and rubble.

Bellême was losing men too. Those who fought for Avalon were some of the most well-trained knights and promising wielders of magic in Britain. Despite their inexperience in the violent world of the melee, their otherworldly allies, youthful vigour and thirst for revenge lent them the strength to pit against the might of these dreaded killers. Bellême's followers began to fall; hewn by swords, stabbed and hammered by household tools or struck down by Gawain's devilish archery.

Hamon was struggling. His head still throbbed from the blow he'd taken in Wales and his senses were sluggish. Despite this, he had just bludgeoned a man to the ground when he spotted a small figure weaving amongst the combatants and recognised him immediately. He had ordered Bran to stay hidden within the relative safety of the undiscovered cellar, but the young lad was lured out by the sound of the nearby fight and had ventured into the midst of the battle seeking retribution for the savage massacre of his family. Delwen had dutifully followed Bran, yet armed with nothing more than small eating knives they were outmatched by Bellême's vile retinue. When a thuggish brute swatted away Bran's knife and raised his sword to deliver a killing blow, all they could do was cower in fear.

Hamon wounds may have dulled his mind, but the desperation to protect innocent lives burned as fiercely as ever and lent strength to his ailing body. With a hefty kick, Hamon barrelled the two youngsters unceremoniously aside, bowling them over as he tackled the villainous knight. Both men were sent sprawling and Hamon, falling on top of his opponent, lifted his hand to pummel the man's face. But as it rose it was struck by a stray spell and Hamon cried out in agony as blood and flesh were torn from the mutilated hand. Seeing that Hamon was injured, the knight recovered and they began to grapple furiously upon the blood splattered floor.

Yet, Hamon was exhausted. With his left hand was useless and his strength quickly ebbing, Hamon knew that it would not be long before the knight gained the upper hand. It came sooner than Hamon anticipated, for his opponent's hand managed to clench about his throat and slowly began to squeeze the life from him. Hamon squirmed and struggled against him, but it was useless to resist and even a desperate attempt by Bran and Delwen to disrupt the brute's efforts were shrugged off. Hamon frantically grasped the man's wrist, only just managing to bring the dagger to a halt before it could pierce his chest. The slim blade hovered in the air as the man's hand closed more tightly around Hamon's throat, dimming his vision and causing his lungs to burn in distress. Hamon's strength ebbed further and the knight growled, sensing that victory was close as he finally managed to free the dagger from Hamon's grip and threatened to disembowel the flailing young man beneath him.

An axe blow put an end to the struggle. Having seen the deadly brawl unfold, Ella rushed to aid the young man she had grown so fond of. With a wild cry, she swung the axe frantically down. Miraculously, the axe's bearded head struck the knights unprotected back, slicing through his gambeson and biting deep into his spine. The knight howled as the axe carved him open, reeling away from his would-be victim to twitch and writhe in agony. Ella fell back with a horrified shriek as Hamon, gasping for air, surged to his feet. Ignoring the quivering Ella and his wounded body, Hamon heaved the axe free and with a guttural roar brought it back down with two brutal blows which reeked bloody ruin upon the back of the knight's skull.

Backing into the ruined doorway, Bellême was still fending off Stone-Arthur, hewing great chunks of masonry from its towering bulk until a final flaming red spell caused its flailing remnants to explode in a cloud of dust and splinters. Bellême roared his victory before the sound of running feet signalled the arrival of a new challenger. But it was not Godric Gryffindor who reached him first, for the young wizard's path had been barred by the angelic faced Villon, who gave no quarter as he blocked Godric from reaching Bellême. Instead, it was Lancel the Valiant who leaped through the falling dust to confront Bellême. Driven by a desire to win renown, Lancel knew that defeating a wizard as renowned as Bellême would bolster his reputation as a promising warrior far beyond his rivals. Bright lights flashed as several curses were exchanged in the opening moments of their duel, both combatants dancing over the smouldering rushes and molten ash spewing forth from where spells clashed.

Godric growled in frustration. He was confident that his ability with both a sword and wand surpassed Villon's, but Bellême's valued follower was a wily fighter and he consistently danced away from Godric's blows before countering with his own. A vicious curse burned Godric's cheek and another burst in a shower of sparks as it struck Godric's shield charm. However, before he could retaliate, Godric heard a loud shout hail him.

'Villon!' the voice roared and suddenly a haggard looking Salazar was there, his wand twirling in his hand. His first spell sent Villon stumbling back with a hiss of pain, leaving Godric to pursue Bellême with Salazar's encouragement, 'Godric, go!'

Lancel fought bravely, but his chances of hindering Bellême's retreat were diminishing quickly. The Norman baron had a name forged on the battlefield and a brutal reputation drenched in the blood of many fallen enemies, combining an aptitude for dual-wielding with a killer's instinct. Now he demonstrated his skill, for Lancel had never thought a warrior like him. Bellême strode towards Lancel, swatting away the younger man's increasingly frantic spells and raised his great sword as he went. Lancel twisted away from one of Bellême's curses and then sprang to counter the oncoming fae-knight whilst flourishing his wand.

He was never given the chance to cast his spell. Bellême's sword flashed, severing Lancel's outstretched wand-hand at the same moment he conjured a shimmering obsidian bolt and sheathed it in the younger man's throat. The Breton gurgled, his next spell dying on his lips, before collapsing in an undignified heap. Blood spewed from his neck, staining his golden locks as Lancel twitched, his eyes bulging as his body was wracked by his death throes. Bellême lingered over the dying young wizard for a heartbeat and relished his victory with a grim smile. Then he was moving, striding towards the broken door in an attempt to escape the chaos about them. He left Lancel to breathe his last, an abrupt and pitiful end for a young man born with so much promise.

Rushing to intervene, Godric witnessed Lancel's fall and his rage overtook him. He sped past the dead young man, ignoring the retreating men-at-arms just as the statue of Derfel Carden bundled one soldier over, parried a spear thrust aimed at Godric's side and, twirling the great stone sword above his sculptured head, crushed a man's skull beneath the brandished weapon. Flying shards of stone stung Godric's flesh and clattered off his mail with bruising force, but the young knight ignored the pain. He was consumed by a madness, the battle-haze which for many millennia had turned good men into killers. In that moment, nothing mattered more to Godric than thwarting Bellême's escape, ideally with a blade in his gut or a spell to his evil heart.

'Bellême!' Godric roared. The Norman glanced behind him, surprised by Godric's daring but flashing a smile which made it clear that he was glad of it. However, Bellême was experienced enough to realise that the tide of the battle was turning against the invaders and regardless of the enticing prospect of finally fighting Godric wand to wand, Bellême deemed it more prudent to withdraw from the bloodbath, signalling for several of his men to deal with the oncoming knight. The three men immediately obeyed and attacked the young warrior charging towards them, dutifully allowing Bellême to slip away from the bloodshed. One of Gawain's great arrows clattered harmlessly off stone where the Norman's head had once been.

Godric did not break his stride as he threw himself onto his enemies. Emboldened by the battle haze, Godric bravely faced all three opponents at once. His opening spell struck a shield charm with a jolting blow that knocked the wizard flying backward over the mound of rubble and broken wood. Godric used his shoulder to ram another soldier aside as his sword parried the third man-at-arms' blade. An axe hacked out, forcing Godric to step hastily away from a blow which would have cleaved him in two. Godric countered, cursed when he missed, and then was forced on the back foot again as the swordsman's thrust tore out links of Godric's mail tunic but failed to penetrate the thick gambeson beneath it.

Godric snarled at his opponents, but his mind was sharpened by years spent on the tiltyard under Hugh's uncompromising tutorage. Cursing, Godric felt his fury at being waylaid from confronting Bellême explode from him. Flames burst from his wand, engulfing the swordsman's foot, who howled in agonised panic and retreated. But his companion quickly took his place and Godric saw the axe rising high as its wielder prepared to split Godric's skull apart.

The blow never came, for a stone hand intercepted the axe's descent and displaying otherworldly strength, brought the weapon to a halt before it could land. As stone grated upon stone, Godric watched Stone-Bedwyr hoist the man from his feet and crush his helmeted head into a wall. The second blow took the man's life. Godric had no time to watch, for the wizard had recovered and now cast a curse which forced the younger wizard duck hastily to avoid it as the spell singed his red hair. Bending low, Godric hacked out with a backhanded swing and felt his blade bite deep into the swordsman's knee. The swordsman screamed again, toppling over as the severed limb spurted blood and bone. Godric's next spell killed him before he'd even hit the ground.

The approaching wizard skidded to a stop, aghast at the sudden change in fortune. He could not retreat, for Stone-Bedwyr instantly sprang into an attack, forcing the wizard into a desperate defence. He could do nothing to impede the young warrior bounding past him and who clambered over fallen masonry to race for the bailey.

Yet, Godric staggered when his eyes fell on a familiar face. He had discovered Lambert's corpse, but Bellême's flight meant that he could neither linger nor dwell on it. Only a brief thought broke through the madness, for it seemed so unnatural to see a sword clasped in the steward's lifeless hand. Godric turned away and sprinted for the bailey, ignoring Rowena's frantic calls for him to come back.

Horror and anarchy awaited Godric when he burst into the bailey. The stone warriors in the keep were not the only statues who answered Godric's call to arms, for the rallying cry had triggered a long forgotten magic which echoed throughout the island. There were panicked cries as several figures almost fell down the spiral staircase in their desperation to flee Yusuf's tower, closely followed by billowing smoke and the screams of the comrades who failed to escape from the rampant Kelpie which murderously pursued them from the scholar's domain.

Beyond the castle walls, the men-at-arms and wizards who Bellême had tasked with hunting down any stray inhabitants who had sought refuge amongst Avalon's rocky outcrops and glades were suddenly thrust into a battle for their lives. Statues of beasts and heroes which had previously littered the island now sprang to life to confront the invaders who had disturbed Avalon's peaceful slumber. Amongst them were the nine maiden guardians of the long lost Cauldron of Rebirth, who brought violent retribution to those who had stained the sacred isle with blood. Stone clashed with steel and spells as one maiden who had spent many lifetimes perched serenely on the moss-strewn rocks at the pool's heart finally stood and dived into the water as her sisters brought death to their enemies.

She remained submerged for the briefest of heartbeats before erupting onto the embankment, grasping at a poor soul's ankle with her outstretched arm before he could scurry away. The veteran soldier screamed in terror, kicking and clawing at the grass until his fingers were bloody as the maiden slipped back into the water and dragged her prey with her. They both disappeared into the pools dark depths with a final, chilling wail.

The bailey itself was littered with corpses. The churned mud of the courtyard was waterlogged and strewn with the bodies of Gervais's prized horses. Only a few still lived, running amok and driven mad by the roaring fires which consumed the stables and some of the outer walls towers. Godric was barely aware of sprinting past the bodies of Tancred and Dunstan, who had bravely fallen in a futile effort to defend the keep.

Godric forced his stinging eyes to focus on the retreating Bellême, who was almost strolling towards the gate where half-a-dozen retainers were trying to subdue one of the hulking stone sentinels who had once stood guard at Avalon's gate. Its companion was missing, but judging by the shouts and screams rising from the islands steep road, it was vigorously hunting Bellême's men through the burning glades.

A bolt of magic singed Bellême's shoulder as it flew perilously close, bring the Norman baron to an instant stop. The famous wizard turned to face his new challenger and chuckled mockingly,

'Have you come to die little Gryffindor?'

'Bellême,' Godric snarled, so consumed with rage and hate that he could barely speak. He skidded to a halt and stared at the wizard whose existence had plagued half his life. Two of Bellême's followers nudged their mounts to face Godric, but a wave of Bellême's sword swiftly ceased any intervention they would make.

'Is your lust for battle not yet sated?' Bellême asked, his voice laced with amusement, 'or do I have to end your miserable life before this day is done?'

'You won't escape,' Godric replied, breathing heavily, 'I swear that I'll see you dead for this!'

Bellême laughed, unmoved by Godric's passionate threats.

'Greater men than you have promised to do the same,' Bellême confessed honestly, 'and worms now feast upon their corpses. What makes you any different? How can you believe you stand a chance against me?'

'I can promise,' Godric growled, his eyes clouding with bloodlust, 'that no one has desired your death as much as I have.'

'Then let us find out,' Bellême smiled, shifting into a defensive stance and twirling his sword lazily in his hand with an easy confidence that only fuelled Godric's fury further and spurred him into an attack.

'Bastard,' Godric roared, not caring that his anger was consuming him and influencing his judgment. All that mattered to Godric was his sword, magic and the all-encompassing desire to end the life of the monster before him.

Godric cast a jinx which sent several bursts of glittering light hurtling towards Bellême. The Norman danced nimbly away as two plunged into the mud at his feet before erecting a shield to meet the third. It struck the shimmering magical barrier with a clang that echoed off the surrounding walls and exploded in a shower of sparks. Bellême smiled sardonically at Godric through a haze of acrid smoke.

Only for his jeering smile to instantly disappear as a glimmering blade flashed through the vaporous veil and threatened to tear Bellême's throat apart. The Norman was forced to hastily jerk his head back, the hiss of the blade rebounding in his ears. Bellême snarled and threw Godric back with his own retaliatory barrage. Godric felt Bellême's spell shatter his shield charm, and unhindered by his opponent's onslaught, he swerved aside and rushed to engage him again. Bellême sidestepped the oncoming lunge, had his own counter attack parried by Godric's magic and then settled into a furious exchange of flurrying blows and crackling spells with such terrifying speed that it would have incapacitated any wizard not born to be a dual-wielder.

The combatants found themselves locked in a brutal dance, both vying for the upper hand as the sound of their duel reverberated across the whole island. There would be no clemency. Creatures like Bellême did not abide by the rules of chivalry and any thoughts of mercy did not cross his sadistic mind, whilst Godric could never forgive the man who had brought fire and death to Avalon. They both knew that only one of them could be victorious and this lent a ferociousness to their blows that rang with murderous intent. Soon they were both stained with blood from niggling wounds and spattered with mud thrown up by stomping feet and narrowly avoided spells.

Godric began to feel the strain of the fight and his tired mind battled to ignore the burning fatigue which clawed at him. Never before had he fought such a draining fight and as he battered away Bellême's attacks and responded with his own, the strength in his arms and the power of his magic started to wane as he repeatedly battered away Bellême again and again. His duel against Killer-Bjorn had been a different experience entirely. The Icelander's blows had been wilder and his spell's crippling, but they were conjured crudely with the intent of hammering a dueller into submission. It was the Seidr way, a style of combat which was as startling in its brutality as it was easy for an experienced fighter to outwit.

Bellême's manner of fighting differed greatly from the Icelander's. Like Godric, both his wand and sword moved simultaneously. However, with a surprising grace for such a big man. Every strike was also measured as if each blow tested his opponent for an exploitable weakness. As they traded more attacks, Godric was aware of those soulless eyes burning into him, constantly vying to outsmart the young upstart who had dared to challenge the prowess of the greatest fae-knight in Britain and Normandy. It was as much a contest of iron wills than one of physical strength or killing intent. But Godric was no novice to battle; he was the slayer of men like Killer-Bjorn the Icelander and Muggle-Bane, and his youth combined with his lust for blood ensured that Bellême did not remain unscathed. Blood was drawn and spells scared their skin as the two combatants fought on, each struggling to break the ongoing stalemate.

Again they locked swords, their blades ringing until both men were forced to part, their breath laboured and muscles aching. Bellême sent his next spell bursting forth, forcing Godric to retreat as the curse soared harmlessly past before exploding against Avalon's keep. Waving his wand in retaliation, Godric's magic picked up a stray axe and hurled it at Bellême. The Norman wizard transfigured the twirling weapon into two thick ropes mid-flight and sent them hissing back. Once caught Godric's wand hand, wrapping about his wrist and provoking a curse as a burning sensation seared his flesh.

But Godric's sword remained free and he hacked the second rope apart before freeing his arm from the rope which held him with one upward slice. A spell was already leaving Godric's lips even as the severed rope burst apart in a shower of cascading lights.

 _'Reducto!'_

 _'Bombarda!'_

The two spells met and exploded, finally bringing their heroic exertions to a temporary end. The force of it threw the combatants, stumbling as they tried to keep their footing in the slippery mud. Great rasping breaths grated from Godric's throat and his body seemed to scream with discontent. Nonetheless, Godric was aware of Bellême's calculating gaze transfixed upon him and shifted painfully into a fighting stance. Frustratingly, the fatigue which afflicted Godric was not mirrored in his opponent's countenance as Bellême had spent close to two decades waging war. Despite the scorch marks and blood-stained tears in his mail and gambeson, Bellême remained composed, although admittedly there was a wariness which bordered upon rueful approval in his lifeless gaze. Godric had outlasted many of the men Bellême had fought since the Norman had crossed wands with Alain outside Rochester's walls.

'Melusine has underestimated you,' Bellême acknowledged, 'she thought your continued survival was due to luck, but you have more skill than I was led to believe.'

'That was not my intention,' Godric spat back, revolted with the idea of impressing his enemy, hefting his sword again and returning to the duel. Bellême ducked beneath Godric's wild swing, but his own sword was deflected by a spell. The Norman wizard twisted deftly and hacked out, only for Godric to block it with his own blade before it could disembowel the younger man. Yet, Godric could not press his attack, for the older wizard shoved him back and they disengaged again for a brief respite.

'Fool,' Bellême growled, 'I am no base born Icelander. I heard rumours that you that you and the other whelps of Avalon have been knighted; that they call you Gryffindor. I wonder if it was premature. There's more to being a knight than bravery or misguided loyalty. There is no place for chivalry in battle, boy. Neither taking a life nor lifting some girl's skirts will make you a knight. Any fool with a sword can kill someone.'

'What would you know of chivalry?' Godric snapped contemptuously.

'I play by the devil's rules,' Bellême remarked, 'and it has gifted me with power.'

'Power?'

'It is all for power,' Bellême said, 'our hearts yearn for it and we spend our lives being governed by our need for it. All men dream of wielding it, from kings and knights to the vilest beggar and the power I wield will be remembered for years to come.'

'Lord Alain will come for you,' Godric declared, 'he will never forgive this. Then you shall see real power.'

'Alain of Avalon will soon be dead,' Bellême sneered mockingly. He did not fear the Lord of Avalon. He never had, unlike many other men, 'and I know Melusine. The Cripple is probably been killed already!'

'Liar,' Godric cried, firing another spell. It was a tired effort and Bellême battered it aside carelessly, snorting in derision. He made no attempt to reply. His men-at-arms were calling to him urgently and the screams of the soldier's being pursued beyond them only grew louder.

'You don't know my uncle,' Godric continued, 'Melusine is no match for him.'

'Melusine has many guises,' Bellême chuckled darkly, 'the fair lady; the noble descendant of Merlin; the pitiless she-wolf. She's never revealed her true nature, not even to me. But she was born with a ruthlessness few others can match. Do you think I learned duelling from a nun? I've seen Melusine peel the skin and flesh from her enemies whilst they still cried out for death and what gold she has taken from her sisters and lovers, has been used to influence the loyalties of weak men. She is both cunning and powerful; it is why she is such a feared enemy. If the Cripple has fallen into her clutches, little Gryffindor, then none can save him.'

'No,' Godric cried, refusing to believe it. The combatants rushed in and their weapons clashed, but once again Bellême parried the younger wizard's efforts with increasing ease. The Norman baron laughed cruelly as he kicked the flagging Godric away.

'Pitiful,' Bellême chuckled scornfully, 'no wonder the Cripple of Avalon is no more when he puts his trust in worms like you. Alain's power is broken and that creature he dared to make his wife is dead, killed by my sword when she tried to resist us. His castle is in flames. Once I've crushed you, the last of his blood, then there will be nothing left of the bastard upstart but ash and bones.'

'No,' Godric whispered, trying to ignore his enemy's vile vitriol.

'You know I do not lie,' Bellême snarled, 'I swore an oath on my mother's grave that I would see the Cripple die. I've dreamt of this day; dreamt of the day when I could make Alain of Avalon pay for the part he played in my mother's murder. I've committed years to sapping his legacy so that one day I could watch it crumble into dust.'

Bellême regarded the burning castle, breathing in the scent of acrid smoke conjured by the licking flames and for once allowed his jubilation to seep through the unreadable mask. His smile made the younger man bristle,

'There is so much your little mind cannot hope to understand. In this you are very similar to your brother, Gryffindor,' Bellême smirked as Godric's eyes widened, 'the one who blundered into the Old King's Court, a forgotten face amongst the pages and squires. I was surprised to learn that the Lord of Avalon had a nephew at court, a secret the Cripple tried very hard to hide. He had just cause, for the Cripple has many enemies and rivals other than me. I was especially glad when I discovered your brother was a Muggle. It made his death far more satisfying. It was all too easy to make it look like a hunting accident; just another young fool who overestimated his skill with a spear and paid the ultimate price.'

Godric glared at Bellême with a loathing he'd never felt before. He remembered listening to his father's drunken ramblings when the grave tidings had arrived in Black-Hollow, for William was a confident rider who had survived many hunts in Black-Hollow's lands without incident and it made no sense that an accomplished rider like Godric's brother had fallen to his death. To learn that it was no accident filled Godric with fury. Poor, good William; a victim to an evil man's hatred for a kinsman he'd never meet.

'Now it is done,' Bellême had continued, 'no one will remember the Cripple's name and once I've slaughtered your friends and your girl has screamed her last, then there will be no one to remember Godric of Avalon. Think of it as an honour, for I rarely concern myself with the names of those I kill.'

'You can try,' Godric glared back defiantly, 'but I will fight you until the very end. You are a disease which blights our world. Men who think they can bully and terrorise others into giving them power when all it breeds is resentment and hate. You cannot know how deep my hatred for you runs. I despise you and all men who are like you. I have done since the day you beat me bloody before all the great men of the kingdom, for nothing more than a goblet of spilled wine. I have pictured your death a thousand times and prayed that I would be the one to do it. If it is my fate to die here, then I'll make sure that you never forget the name of Godric Gryffindor!'

'Godric Gryffindor,' Bellême threw back his head and laughed scornfully at the byname even as he began to lift his wand, 'you whimper like a kicked puppy dog, just like when we met.'

The Norman's amusement was almost his undoing, for Godric pounced in the same moment that Bellême revelled in his victory by barking with sardonic laughter. At learning of the true extent of Bellême's wickedness, a resurgent wave of madness swept through him and Godric struck with the ferocity of the shredded lion on his chest. Bellême's eyes widened at the warning his waiting followers cried to him, loud enough for the wizard to shift his head slightly as Godric's wand flashed. Instead of tearing Bellême's face into bloody ruin, the dark spell sliced deeply across his cheek, ripping apart his flesh until it left a jagged line from mouth to ear.

It was the darkest spell Godric had ever used. But it still wasn't enough.

Bellême roared like a wounded bear and he unleashed his own magic like a wild beast. A blinding light sent Godric tumbling roughly across the bailey, his wand falling from his hand as he splattered through the mud. Godric hastily clambered windlessly to his feet, just in time to see his opponent wielding his wand furiously as he conjured magic far darker than any he had used thus far. Grasping his sword in both hands, Godric deflected one spell before twirling nimbly to block the second.

Only for his sword to shatter the instant the crackling spell struck the blade.

A curse escaped Godric's lips as the dark magic Bellême coveted proved too powerful for the runes engraved in the younger wizard's sword to withstand. Godric stared in horror at the broken hilt in his hand, small shards of steel lacerating his own flesh as they flew past.

Then his world exploded in excruciating agony, the impact of Bellême's third spell forcing him from his feet and driving the breath from his body, burning through both mail and gambeson to cut into his shoulder. Godric cried out, his muscles twitching in protest against the corrupting dark magic and the sudden stench of roasting flesh almost made him vomit.

The squelch of boots stepping into the mud beside him forced a squirming Godric to open his eyes, only to find Bellême towering above him. The derisive amusement shone from the Norman baron's eyes throughout their duel was gone and not even a triumphant smile graced his hard features. The soulless gaze had to stare down at the wounded man. Blood streamed from his disfigured face and scarlet drops rained down upon the stricken young knight at his feet.

'Melusine was not the only one who underestimated you,' he growled coldly, 'you meant to kill me with that spell. How strange that we are not so dissimilar, you and I. Beneath the noble façade, lay a soul just as merciless as my own. But you're no paladin yet.'

Bellême's eyes narrowed dangerously,

'I don't suffer rivals!'

'You lie…' Godric gasped defiantly, grimacing as another jolt of burning pain shot through his shoulder.

'Lies,' Bellême scoffed scathingly, 'our world is founded upon lies. We lie about the purity of our bloodlines and to hide our ambitions. All our oaths are undermined with lies. But they can be useful, for a simple lie can help you achieve power. Look about you, Gryffindor, look at the destruction around us and know that this sacred place was destroyed so that Melusine could possess a simple scroll.'

Bellême suddenly kicked out, knocking Godric's arms away and pressing his studded boot down upon his wounded shoulder. Godric screamed.

'Melusine wants the Cauldron of Rebirth; for what cause she'd want such an ancient trinket I do not know, nor do I care. But she desires it so greatly that she has lied, deceived and killed to accomplish it. I have no reason to question her desires and no qualms about aiding her to realise them. I've lied to her, sworn to protect her and delivered her the scroll all for my own purposes. It has also led to the fall of Alain the Cripple, and with that bastard gone, then chaos will return to Britain and in times of chaos men like me prosper.'

'Old Gofanon is weak,' Bellême sneered as Godric looked up at him in rage and horror, 'his body fails him and his champion is gone. The old factions who have hoarded their power for so long are collapsing. It is time for a new era to rise from the ashes of their outdated traditions. They have been weak since Old King William came to these shores and petty rivalries were exploited to fracture them. They have been weak ever since heroism died on the battlefields of Clontarf and the Conquest. There is no longer any honour in the magical world, nor any in our ancient bloodlines. The days of Merlin and those loathsome weaklings who aspire to his teachings are gone. In the new world, we can only trust in our own power and the desire to achieve it.'

'Are people worth so little to you?' Godric growled through clenched teeth, 'is power all you care about?'

'Power is everything,' Bellême suddenly snarled fervently, 'all wizards strive for it; few ever manage to claim it. Those too weak to see it will fall…'

Disarmed and wounded, Godric still summoned the courage to defy Bellême. He spat at him, refusing to give the Norman baron the pleasure of seeing the fear and despair which clawed at his soul as Bellême outlined his nightmarish future for Britain.

'It's strange,' Bellême murmured softly, 'how even you can be defiant in the face of death. You once slighted me before all my rivals. Tell me, where is your magic now Godric Gryffindor.'

His wand glowed in anticipation of the final, fatal curse.

'Shame,' Bellême said, 'you showed promise. If the Cripple had not tainted you with his weakness then you may have made a valuable apprentice. Alas, we shall never know…'

 _'Protego Horribilis!_ '

The cry drew the two combatants abruptly from their exchange as a glistening shield expanded between them, dislodging Bellême from his place above Godric and shoving the Norman back. Rowena, her raven hair singed and blowing wildly about her pale face, strode from the keep's splintered doors with her wand outstretched and a spell on her lips. Salazar was with her, tiredly firing his own spells and behind him came more of the survivors of the battle for Avalon. Amongst them were the remnants of the keep's stone statues, who launched themselves across the bailey like raging bulls.

Bellême hesitated, confident in his ability to defeat any of the wizards and Muggles who rushed to oppose him. But as great a paladin as Bellême was, even he could not overcome over two dozen vengeful adversaries. The shouts of his followers alerted Bellême to the danger and reinforced the Norman's urge to retreat. The hardened retinue had thrown down the great monolith, casting the crumbling stone figure into the abyss below the drawbridge and now one rushed forward with Bellême's horse. Mounting the stamping beast deftly, Bellême sheathed his blade and rode for the gate.

There he reeled around to face Avalon's bloodied inhabitants, who despite their bold and stubborn front, were too exhausted to pursue him. Gawain sent an arrow whistling through the air, but Bellême battered it away contemptuously,

'Avalon has fallen,' he suddenly roared, 'and a new dawn rises. Blood will out!'

Then he turned a rode away, his men galloping in his wake until they disappeared into the blackened smoke which surrounded Avalon. Screams, yells and the clash of weapons rose from within the billowing veil of ash, as those unlucky few who tried to flee the island on foot were mercilessly pursued through Avalon's burning glades by the vengeful stone guardians.

Godric's emotionless gaze watched on helplessly as Bellême ride away. But as his most hated enemy disappeared, he was finally able to consider the chaos around him. Rowena and Salazar were hastening towards him, their expressions struggling to contain the warring concern and relief at seeing him bloodied and bruised, but still alive. Even though his heart soared at seeing that his friends had survived the brutal battle, Godric ignored their calls of his friends and the fierce urge to go to them. The nightmarish world around him slipped away as his red-eyed gaze landed on the strangest sight of the battle.

The corpses of beasts and men lay strewn across the bailey. Rising stiffly to his knees, Godric discarded his broken sword, hissing at the pain his wounds inspired and the scorching heat of the blazing fires burning around him. He ignored them all, crawling through mud and blood until he reached his target. Godric felt the beast within his heart roar in grief, although no trace of it escaped his lips. He felt numb, as if every one of his senses had deserted him, for Godric's eyes were transfixed on the body before him and for the rest of his life, the fall of Avalon would be immortalised by what he saw.

Morwenna, the Lady of Avalon, lay dead. Never again would the soft patter of her gentle footsteps be heard as she walked amongst the apple glades and never again would her enchanting voice rise up in song as she swam and bathed in its sacred waters. Never would her smile shine radiantly as she looked upon her beloved husband. The sword which had killed her had struck the nape of her bare neck and bitten deep until it cleaved into her heart and ended her life. Her once violet eyes were closed and Godric bent over the body to stroke her soft hair away from her beautiful face. Even in the cold embrace of death, Morwenna remained as serene as she had in life, regardless of the blood still pooling around her.

No tears fell from Godric's eyes. It did not mean his grief was any less than that felt by those who wept bitterly as they clustered around their fallen and fair lady. Godric could barely comprehend that the woman who had nurtured and mothered him from being an unwanted fosterling to a proud man, was now gone. The world would be a dimmer place for it, for the island she had inhabited for many lives of men was now stricken with death, ablaze with hungry fires as the once gleaming castle now stood in ruins. The bitter truth of Bellême's parting words hammered Godric's heart.

His world had been shattered and chaos had come to Britain.

For Avalon had fallen…

* * *

Hope you enjoyed the battle!


	38. Thirty-Seven: The Fall of Avalon

**The Fall of Avalon**

Godric found himself in a nightmare he could not wake up from. He remained frozen, staring numbly at Morwenna's lifeless body and unable to grasp that the fair lady who had shown him the same love and devotion that she would have showered upon a son she could never conceive, was dead. Without thinking, Godric looked for his wand and absentmindedly summoned it to his outstretched hand before conjuring a cloak from the air. With trembling hands, Godric gently draped it over Morwenna, hiding the evidence of her violent demise from prying eyes.

'Godric,' he heard a familiar voice call his name, but he took no heed of it. He just continued to stare at the corpse beside him. Morwenna had been one of the kindest and most noble women that Godric had known and all those who spent time in her company came to admire and adore her. She had not deserved to end her life so violently.

'Godric,' the voice said again, this time whispered close to his ear. Disturbed from his reverie, Godric turned to find Rowena kneeling in the waterlogged mud beside him. Her face and robes were marked by the desperate battle and tears fell freely, leaving trails through the smeared soot and splattered blood that stained her face.

'Rowena?' he asked dumbly as if his sluggish mind was unable to discern who she was through the burning pain in his wounded shoulder and heart. He didn't even realise that the world he had called his home was dying in the fires around them.

'Oh Godric,' she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him. Her slim frame shook uncontrollably as she sobbed into his unwounded shoulder, her tears dampening the battered tabard which hung in tatters from mutilated armour. Godric wished he could comfort her or feel as elated as he once would have been if he found himself in Rowena's embrace, but he was struggling to muster any emotion which could fill the chasm that had impaled his heart. He neither cursed nor shed a tear for the loss he had suffered.

Rowena shifted slightly and when her body pressed against the charred wound, Godric couldn't resist flinching and hissing at the pain. They parted clumsily, Rowena staring at him in alarm.

'You're hurt?'

'It's nothing,' Godric grunted weakly. Rowena eyed the scorched and mangled mail skeptically.

'It doesn't seem like it,'

'Later,' Godric deflected her mounting concern, 'I'll cope with the pain. As long as I can still wield a sword or wand then I'll be fine.'

'Good,' Salazar announced as he approached them, his boots squelching in the mud.

'Still alive?' Godric asked grimly, unable to muster a smile.

'I've felt better,' Salazar nodded, grimacing at Godric's wound, 'I hope you can still fight. You may need too by the end of the day.'

'You think we're still danger?' said Godric, rising stiffly to his feet and relying on Rowena to steady him.

'Maybe,' Salazar admitted, 'some of Bellême's men could still be lurking out there in the glades, although our stone friends may have seen to them all. However, if not Bellême, then we may have to fight our way out of these bloody fires. If they get any worse, then none of us will need a funeral pyre.'

Rowena flinched at his callous tone. Godric ignored it, for he had known Salazar longer and could sense the hurt his friend was struggling to contain. It was a hurt which only increased when Salazar's gaze dropped to the cloaked figure at their feet. His jaw clenched and a muscle twitched,

'Morwenna?'

'Dead,' Godric said bluntly. Rowena shivered beside and released another pained sob. This time, with his dulled senses returning, Godric had to resist the urge to comfort her. It would do little good when he could not even comfort himself. Salazar closed his eyes, visibly wrestling with his fraught emotions. Like Godric, Salazar had already lost a mother. For a second motherly figure to be taken from them, especially so violently, was a cruel blow.

'She will be avenged,' he muttered coldly when he reopened her eyes. Godric nodded, concurring with a silent promise that Salazar would not pursue any revenge alone. The Lady of Avalon was dead and those responsible would pay for it in blood.

'The feud can wait,' Rowena interjected gravely, wiping the tears from her reddened eyes,

'Our shieldmaiden is right,' Salazar said, recovering his wits to glance at Rowena fondly, 'Avalon has fallen; no one can deny that. Those who survived Bellême's attack are mostly women and children, and a lot of our friends are wounded and need healing. We must find them refuge away from these fires.'

'Could we not flee into the marshes?' Rowena asked, 'the damp air should keep the fires from spreading off the island and the mists could hide us if Bellême returns.'

'It may hide us from Bellême,' Salazar grumbled, 'but it will not defend us against all the dangers we could face. There are foul creatures in those marshes who can reach us in the mists, lured by the smell of blood. I think our best hope is to get away from here as swiftly as we can.'

'And go where?' Rowena exclaimed in frustration, 'there are no other strongholds nearby and our allies are across the Severn.'

'Black-Hollow,' Godric murmured softly, provoking both his friends to stare at him.

'Black-Hollow?' Rowena asked dumbly, unfamiliar with the name.

'It's my manor,' Godric advised, 'I may not be a great magnate like Alain, but it should suffice. When I became the Lord of Black-Hollow, Alain insisted on placing powerful wards along its borders. They will ensure that our people have the refuge they seek.'

'Good,' Salazar agreed, 'we should also send a message to Mynydd-y-ser. Lord Gofanon will want to know what happened here.'

'What about Lord Alain?'

'He may already know,' Salazar stammered hesitantly, the fear of having to tell the Lord of Avalon that his beloved wife was dead filled him with dread, 'but if he doesn't, then it is our duty to tell him. We promised Alain that we would return to aid him.'

'If he still lives,' Godric mumbled, remembering Bellême's earlier assertion that the Lord of Avalon would have been killed, 'Melusine may have already reached him.'

'It doesn't matter,' Salazar replied stubbornly, 'I'm still going to try and find him.'

'Then we must hurry,' Godric growled, 'we'll see to our dead and wounded. Then those of us who can still fight will leave to find him. I'll not let Alain fall into Melusine's hands…'

'I don't know what is happening to Lord Alain,' Rowena said, resting a hand on Godric's arm supportively, 'but there are other tasks we must attend to before we return to battle. Yusuf is dead, but we are also in danger of losing all the knowledge of our world he's accumulated. We must not let it perish in the flames, not when Yusuf dedicated his life to preserving it.'

'We also have several prisoners,' Salazar remarked, watching Godric warily as his friend tensed at the news, 'and one of them is Villon. I'd like to interrogate them before we are done here. Then we can decide what we are to do with them.'

'It is already decided,' Godric growled harshly, 'they die!'

Rowena recoiled, startled by Godric's ruthlessness and even Salazar raised a questioning eyebrow.

'You're sure?' Salazar asked evenly,

'They die,' Godric reiterated angrily, a trace of his returning fury escaping him and dissuading his companions from arguing with him. Rowena looked as if she wished to retort, but any argument she may have mustered died on her lips when Salazar shook his head at her, pleading for her to hold her tongue. He recognised the dark look in Godric's eyes and knew that his friend was struggling to control the madness which was threatening to return. Salazar had faced it once before and had no wish to see it again now the battle was over.

'So be it,' Salazar resolved, 'I'll help Rowena salvage what we can from Yusuf's tower and any supplies which remain in the stores. It'll demand a basic knowledge of ancient writings and Godric can't tell the difference between a sacred tome and a privy sponge. Godric, help bring the wounded and dead into the bailey. They'll be safe enough from the fire here.'

Despite the tragedy unfolding around them, Godric smiled faintly at the poor jest. If Godric was being honest, there was some truth to it.

They sped off to complete their assigned tasks, Salazar leading Rowena towards Yusuf's tower whilst Godric trudged back towards the blood drenched hall. The Scottish maiden seemed reluctant to leave Godric's side, but the need to save Yusuf's trove of countless treasures from the encroaching flames was great and so she followed Salazar up the winding staircase and left Godric to see to the survivors.

Whilst Stone-Bedwyr returned to the bailey and helped carry the bloodied corpses of Tancred and Dunstan until they lay beside the Lady of Avalon, Godric slipped into the scorched keep. He didn't spare a glance for the broken corpses of the men who had tried to impede his pursuit of Bellême, but he did pause when he finally reached Lambert.

Avalon's steward had never been a fighting man. Yet, he had died with an unwieldy sword clasped in his hand, sacrificing his life to bravely hold the door against a tide of enemies he had no hope of overcoming. A remorseful Godric remembered the trouble he had plagued Lambert with in life, the constant battle of pranks and punishment they had played. He regretted it now, staring down at the poor man's lifeless eyes. Stone grating upon stone alerted Godric to Stone-Bedwyr's presence as the statue raised the steward into his mighty arms and strode towards the bailey, leaving Godric to clamber over the rubble and enter the hall.

Godric was met by a chorus of relieved cries when the assembled survivors saw him. Wounds were already being tended too and the dead grieved over. Many faces expressed anguish over the losses they had suffered and some even embraced him, weeping and thanking him repeatedly. Godric was their saviour, for he had led the reinforcements who had stormed the hall to save their lives and it was the young knight's sword which had first started to tear the enemy asunder.

Gervais was alive, his body strained by the marks of battle as he held a pale-faced, wide-eyed Delwen in his quivering arms. Honest Belin still lived and the monk embraced him wearily, his hands still trembling from the recent fight. Ella had also survived, but she did not embrace him. The whore was fastidiously tending to the wounds Hamon had suffered, whose usually gentile face now resembled a terrifying mask as blood spurted from the untended head wound and his cursed hand throbbed in agony. When she glanced Godric's way as he approached and her grim features softened in recognition. Hamon did not conceal his relief at seeing his friend alive.

'Thank Christ you're alright,' Hamon exclaimed as he made to stand, only for Ella's hands to force him back down as she chastised him gently, provoking a sheepish smile from Hamon, 'I feared the worse when I saw you go after Bellême. Is the bastard dead?'

'He lives,' Godric grunted sourly. Hamon cursed and shrugged in resignation,

'He'll die one day,' Hamon assured Godric, before gesturing at the chaos around them, 'and he'll pay for what he's done here.'

Godric followed Hamon's gaze and beheld the scale of the devastation inflicted upon his home for the first time. The great hall was in disarray, littered with corpses, scattered rubble and shredded furnishings. No great tapestries hung along the walls and the decorations which had once shone with the majesty of a long gone era either stood ignored by the survivors or had fallen in battle. His hopes that Avalon had not fallen were instantly dashed. The castle was ruined.

Godric still did not weep.

'He deserves it,' Ella snapped bitterly. There were ancient rules which governed the magical world and making war on women and children went against everyone. But Bellême didn't abide by bygone traditions and Avalon had paid for it in blood and horror, 'it takes a special kind of evil to delight in using swords and spells on the innocent.'

She glanced at Godric and momentarily met the young knight's gaze, but the intensity of it made her recoil, her face paling rapidly. It went unnoticed and the crackle of burning thatch as the fires spread to the timber rafters soon forced the survivors to evacuate the hall. As the wounded and fallen were hurried towards the safety of the bailey, Godric led a few brave men in a desperate search for any survivors who had sought sanctuary elsewhere. Sannan was amongst the lucky few to be found alive, crawling out of the foul-smelling privy tunnels in tears. However, the corpses of several maids were also discovered and the suffering inflicted upon them in their last torturous moments brewed a fresh wave of hatred for Bellême and the dogs who followed him.

Once the keep had been evacuated, they set about tending to the worst of their injuries. Isobel the Enchantress, her arm bleeding from where a curse had mutilated it, was also grief stricken as she stubbornly refused to leave her dead brother's side. Her tears spoke of the hurt which ravaged her. Assessing the damage done to Avalon's inhabitants, Godric was relieved that Bellême had not rallied his followers and renewed the attack. The defiance shown by the survivors had seeped away and now they neither had the strength nor will to throw the devil back. Seeing the risk and having proven themselves worthy of the prowess they'd displayed in life, Godric ordered the remaining stone sentinels to march to the damaged gate and continue to guard it against any lingering threat.

Efnysien had also survived the battle. Godric wasn't surprised, for, despite his belligerent nature, Owain ap Cadwgan had proved to be a ferocious fighter. He surprised Godric with a good-natured embrace and laughed heartily. Tired but unscathed, there was no sign of the misplaced rivalry which had plagued the pair since they had met in Mynydd-y-ser and their recent quarrels were seemingly forgotten.

'Merlin, you can fight,' Efnysien exclaimed complimentarily, 'I'm no liar, so I will not deny being skeptical of the praise lauded upon you. But it seems like I was mistaken. You fight like an ancient god of war.'

'I'm not the only one,' Godric acknowledged humbly, waving the Welshman's praise away, 'the bards should sing of your prowess.' Godric had not seen Efnysien fight, but his bloodied apparel and fierce nature were a testament to his status as a warrior. Efnysien beamed with pride at Godric's praise, clapped the fellow knight on the back and then went to see to his wounded kinsmen.

Godric watched him leave in bemusement, before turning to face the three prisoners. They huddled together in the mud, battered, bruised and bleeding. The two men-at-arms were subdued, their heads bowed forlornly as they tried to ignore the threats hissed at them by Avalon's angry survivors. Only Villon looked unconcerned and he dared to return Godric's gaze, an amused smile gracing his lips which glowed with stubborn defiance. Godric had the sudden impulse to beat the smile from Villon's face and the flicker of rage which stirred in the pit of his stomach almost wrestled free. Exhaling a shuddering breath, Godric regained control and turned slowly away. He would deal with the prisoners later, but first, he needed to hear what had happened during the early stages of Bellême's raid.

A soot covered Salazar and Rowena reappeared shortly after Godric and the surviving wizards had been forced to cast a series of spells on any salvageable wood they could find and assembled them into makeshift carts strong enough to bear the dead and more seriously wounded. Two large chests brimming with disordered scrolls and loose parchments floated in the air behind the pair, where they were also joined by Yusuf's levitated body which they had rescued from the flames. They left the bodies of three men in the tower, two of which had died at the scholar's hands whist the third had fallen victim to the rampaging stone kelpie. Both of them were coughing and spluttering by the time they reached the bailey, dancing flames licking at their backs as Yusuf's tower was slowly consumed.

Placing their burdens onto the waiting carts, Salazar and Rowena wandered over to where Godric was having a moments respite amongst the tired servants. Rowena was deathly pale as she reached them. She was shivering as she slowly settled beside Godric and the young knight placed an arm around her shaking shoulders. No one commented upon it as Rowena leaned into him.

'We saved what we could,' Rowena stammered, 'but not all his works have survived. I dread to think of what we've lost.' Godric nodded, understanding how aggrieved Rowena would be at the loss of so much valued knowledge.

'Is it time?' Salazar asked darkly. He remained standing, his glare focused on the huddled prisoners and his hand clenching about his wand. Salazar wanted to be gone from this place so that he could go to aid Alain in his battle against Melusine.

'No,' Godric replied firmly, 'I want to hear of their misdeeds before they die.'

'Die?' Hamon spoke up groggily as Godric's ruthlessness startled him. Godric didn't reply, his brooding countenance persuading Hamon that he could not be dissuaded. Together, they turned to a reddening Rowena and waited to hear the tale of the fall of Avalon.

Rowena was walking with Morwenna beneath the sun-lit glades beyond the castle walls when the attack came. Aelflaed, the Lady of Avalon's loyal handmaiden, had followed in their wake, a demure smile playing at her lips as they basked in the sunlight. It had become a regular pastime for them when Morwenna managed to prise the younger woman away from Yusuf's mentoring and they enjoyed it immensely as they talked freely together, away from the disturbance of bustling servants going about their duties. They spoke of history, philosophy and Avalon's bygone glories which Morwenna and Alain had strived to resurrect in recent years.

The Lady of Avalon had just decided to return to the castle's gates when a keening whistle whipped through the glade. Snapping twigs and throwing leaves aside, the barbed bolt shot through the air until it thudded into Aelflaed with a sickening squelch. Rowena and Morwenna spun around to discover the handmaiden looking startled and unsteady on her feet as blood began to dampen her simple robes. Aelflaed stared at the fair lady she had spent her life serving with unfocused eyes and a trickle of scarlet escaped her lips as she tried to speak. The handmaiden took a step forwards, shuddered once and then collapsed as her life fled, her ears deaf to Morwenna's anguished cries.

The Lady of Avalon made to rush to Aelflaed's fallen corpse, but Rowena quickly grasped at her arm and tugged at it desperately, her eyes wide with terror at the sight of dark shapes chopping their way through the apple trees and the sun glinting off polished helmets. A sudden clamour rose up from fleeing creatures as swords were drawn, spurring the two women to flee. A chorus of shouts howled behind them as they fled from the glades and dashed across the stone bridge. The gates still remained open, naively awaiting their return.

Tancred and Dunstan were sparring against each other in the tiltyard when Morwenna's shrill voice rang out, warning them of the encroaching danger and ordering them to defend her castle, sending the two astonished retainers running for their weapons. The howls beyond the gate grew like thunder. Yet, the Lady of Avalon knew that there was no time to close the heavy doors before the tide of invaders overwhelmed them. Morwenna closed her eyes and released a long, shuddering breath.

'Get to the keep' Morwenna commanded Rowena in a gentle voice,

'No,' Rowena stubbornly refused, drawing her wand and looking determined to fight by Morwenna's side despite her quivering hands. A crossbow quarrel whistled overhead as flaming missiles flew over the wall and buried themselves in the mud at their feet. The shouting rose in volume, joined now by the panicked cries of the household as the confused servants and stable-hands sought shelter from the falling arrows which rained down upon them.

'Do as I say,' Morwenna suddenly snapped in a voice which was not her own and that Rowena had never heard her use before. Her violet eyes blazed as a sudden gale rose up around her, her hair flying loose from its detailed braid and the strength of it forcing Rowena back, 'do as I say and protect my household. Be brave, child, for the magic of Avalon will not stand idle whilst its people are attacked.'

Hurrying footsteps signalled the return of Tancred and Dunstan, but the Lady of Avalon didn't spare them a glance as she turned to confront the invaders storming the gate.

'Defend the keep,' she commanded as the baying wolves reached the stone bridge. Then her eyes fluttered shut and her voice rose again in song, drowning out the shouts of the enemy. Seeing that only a feeble woman confronted them, the invaders surged past the silent stone sentinels in a frenzy, their blood fired with the tantalising prospect of being the first to reach the slaves and wealth they had been promised.

However, instead of riches and women, they were greeted by an otherworldly roar which thundered from the abyss beneath them and as the first boots clattered on the stone bridge, a tremor shuddered through the very foundations of the castle. Rowena gasped aloud as a wave of magic threaten to overwhelm her senses, for the Lady of Avalon had decided she would fight rather than flee and she summoned the magic of Avalon to aid her.

In the days of the ancient ones, it was said that the water nymphs who occupied Avalon's sacred pools were granted inhuman magic by the Great Mother. There they became the spiritual guardians of the Isle of Apples, capable of wielding the power to manipulate Avalon's sacred waters and bend it to their will. They could heal wounds, slow old age and use it to defend Avalon. Morwenna, the last of those magical folk, had spent the years since marrying Alain becoming accustomed to her new role as the Lady of Avalon and the human customs it demanded. Now, with invaders threatening slaughter, she once again embraced her ancient heritage.

Great torrents and plumes of frothing water thundered from Avalon's subterranean caverns to the island's surface and struck the charging soldiers as a powerful wave, throwing them into disarray. As the water surged from scores of springs and pools, the soldiers were battered aside with punishing force and sent many screaming into the abyss. The soldiers who were so assured of their victory in the absence of the Lord of Avalon from his seat of power were suddenly thrust away, drowning and struggling against the watery tempest which confronted them.

Stood in the heart of it all was Morwenna, her arms outstretched as tendrils of water swept about her like a many armed creature from ancient legend.

With the invaders temporarily held at bay, Rowena dragged herself away from Morwenna's display of magic and ran for Yusuf's tower, tripping over her cumbersome skirts as she climbed the spiral stairwell. When she finally burst into the scholar's domain, she found him still sat as unflappable as ever at his well-worn bench, regardless of the war cries which echoed from the bailey.

'Ah, Rowena; I've just finished translating the rare passage from we've been working on. It appears that our old friend Agrippa may hold the key to this evasive spell,' Yusuf told her calmly, smiling sadly as he gently traced a finger over the pages of a colourful manuscript, 'come and see.'

'There is no time,' Rowena exclaimed urgently, 'we've been attacked and you must come.'

'Oh,' Yusuf said quietly, 'so the Lady Melusine has come at last, or sent her hound Robert of Bellême to do her bidding.'

'Lady Melusine?' Rowena spluttered in confusion. The maiden was not ignorant of the rivalry and hatred between the Lord of Avalon and Lady Melusine, but she could not believe that the last descendant of Merlin would be so bold as to launch an assault on Avalon itself. The thought of Robert of Bellême made her shiver. It was said that the Norman wizard was the greatest fae-knight in Britain, with a penchant for brutality and cruelty that knew no equal. If Bellême had come to Avalon, then only horror awaited them. She shook her head in disbelief, 'please Yusuf, come with me?'

'I'm sorry, Rowena, but I cannot leave this tower.'

'What?'

'I will not leave this tower,' Yusuf told her sternly, holding up a hand to silence the maiden's protests, 'if this is the work of Melusine, then these foul beasts have not come for Avalon, but for information about a long lost treasure which is said to be stored in one of my scrolls. I must do my best to ensure she never learns of it, for Melusine will use it to harness a great evil. I thought it was well protected, but in my arrogance, I thought Avalon was impregnable.'

'Please?' Rowena pleaded again, tears falling freely from her aggrieved eyes,

'No,' the old scholar said, 'if it is my fate to die here, then so be it. I have lived a long life and seen many things that other wizards would not dare to dream of. Besides, whilst I may be old in years, I am far from enfeebled.' He drew his wand with a flourish and smiled kindly. Then the old scholar repeated Morwenna's command, informing Rowena that she would be more use helping those who could not fight.

'Promise me,' Yusuf continued, 'that if I fall and you survive, then you will do what you can to save the knowledge stored here. This is a tragic end for Avalon, but the loss of all the knowledge and histories of our world's magic would be a loss felt for hundreds of years. What was it your mother once said? Wit before measure is a man's greatest treasure?'

'Not quite…' Rowena began to correct the mistake but was cut off with a wave of Yusuf's gnarled hand.

'Never mind,' the old scholar insisted, 'the meaning remains the same. _It must not be lost!_ '

Rowena stared at her erstwhile mentor through a veil of tears before nodding and swearing that she would do all she could to ensure that the work Yusuf had dedicated his life to would survive his death.

'Good,' he smiled at her kindly, 'now go, and may all the gods of men and wizards watch over you.'

Rowena hesitated, still unwilling to leave the famous scholar to his doom. Then she hardened her heart and fled the tower, leaving the scholar to secure his domain from the invaders. When Rowena reached the keeps outer door, she discovered that the warriors assaulting Avalon had failed to breach had yet to breach Morwenna's magic, for the Lady of Avalon's still stood alone at the bailey's centre and her voice still giving power and direction to the rushing water.

Lambert hurried from the keep and Rowena blinked as Tancred and Dunstan soon joined them. Tancred threw the steward a sword, which a startled Lambert clumsily caught. Her heart sank when she saw how uneasy Lambert was with holding the blade aloft, for he was no warrior. 'Defend the keep,' Tancred barked at the steward, repeating Morwenna's earlier orders, 'we'll do what we can to help Lady Mor…'

Rowena's cry interrupted the retainer, prompting them all to turn towards Avalon's great gates, where a mounted figure had suddenly appeared. The apparition, clad in mail and steel, burst from the veil of mist like a god of war, the rushing water useless to resist the glowing charm which shielded him as he charged into the bailey with the thunder of clattering hooves. Despite the helmet which masked his face, the lone rider was instantly recognisable from the coat-of-arms emblazoned upon his shield. Robert of Bellême had come to Avalon.

Bellême did not stop as he cleared the shadow of the gatehouse, deflecting great jets of water with his wand and spurring his horse towards Morwenna. Rowena screamed in horror, but neither she nor her horrified companions could do anything to thwart the tragedy that was about to befall them.

The maiden saw a bright sword rise high as Bellême loomed over the Lady of Avalon on a rearing horse. Then the blade swung down.

The sword's sharpened edge bit deep into Morwenna's shoulder, tearing through flesh and bone until it had half severed her head. The Lady of Avalon's song was abruptly silenced as her blood showered the bailey and her life was taken from her. Rowena watched on helplessly as Morwenna's body crumpled, her blood draining into the mud around her. Her violet eyes remained closed, never to reopen. The world she had ruled now lay at the mercy of the most notorious fae-knight in Britain, for the Lady of Avalon was dead and her castle had fallen.

Tancred released a strangled roar as the raging waters died and Bellême's followers cheered, rallying to their lord's banner. Rowena watched Bellême lift his bloodied sword and howl his victory, a satisfied smile breaking across what little of his face she could see and causing Rowena to seethe in fury and grief.

 _Twang._

The sound of Tancred's crossbow releasing a bolt jolted Rowena back to reality. Unfortunately, it missed its intended target, soaring over Bellême's head before it buried itself in the neck of another mounted retainer who had followed in the Norman's wake. The rider was thrown into the mud, twitched twice and then lay still. It was a meaningless victory and more flaming arrows answered it, arching over the walls to land in the bailey. Several thudded into the stables thatch and soon smoke was rising from the smouldering thatch, joining the flames already sprouting in Avalon's glades and meadows.

Shaking her head, Rowena was about to cast her own spell at Bellême when a hand gripped her outstretched arm and shoved her towards the keep. She stumbled into Lambert, affronted by the force Dunstan had used to throw her back.

'Defend the keep,' he roared at Lambert. The steward recoiled, staring in horror at the baying soldiers pouring through the gates. Then he was moving, gripping Rowena's arm painfully and steering the witch into the keep's torch-lit gloom. As soon as they had crossed the keep's threshold, the heavy doors slammed shut behind them. Beyond them, Rowena heard a spell being cast to reinforce the door before the clash of fighting men drowned it out as the Lord of Avalon's loyal retainers sacrificed themselves.

Lambert rushed down the hallway, barking orders for all servants to reconvene in the great hall. However, his voice alone was not enough to reach every corner of the keep, especially with the backdrop of fighting behind them. Acting swiftly, Rowena remembered how Helga's great-grandfather had used a spell to magnify his voice so that all who had assembled for the Wizengamot could hear him. Without hesitating, she cast it on herself.

'AVALON IS ATTACKED,' she yelled so that her voice rang off every wall, 'AND THE BAILEY HAS FALLEN. GET TO THE GREAT HALL!'

Her magically amplified voice rose above the panicked cries of Avalon's trapped inhabitants. Lambert reappeared from the gloom, the sword still clasped in his trembling hands.

'Good girl,' he praised her, looking impressed by her quick thinking. However, great hammering blows began to strike the outer-door behind them, the wood creaking and groaning as it shuddered with each strike.

'The door won't hold,' Lambert remarked darkly. Then he was gripping Rowena's arm again and dragging her towards the great hall.

Rowena paused at the hall's threshold and gasped when she saw the small crowd huddled in the large space. Most were women or children, their fear obvious in the alarmed cries they uttered every blow on the outer-door. She recognised Ella and Belin amongst the frightened congregation and Rowena breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that both Kenna and Fiona had also managed to find their way to the great hall. Both servants rushed towards Rowena, relieved that their charge was unharmed. Rowena did her best to assuage their fears. But Rowena did not linger and she soon returned to where Lambert was holding his tearful wife Heloise in his arms. Ella and Belin came to stand nearby, having ventured to find weapons which could aid the defence.

'Lambert,' Ella asked hurriedly, 'what is happening?'

'We're attacked,' the steward replied and Ella swiftly paled. Lambert imparted the news of the attack, informing his horrified friends that the bailey had fallen and the keep was besieged.

'Where are Tancred and Dunstan?'

'They were defending the keep's door,' Lambert said, then flinched as another hammering blow echoed throughout the hall, 'they won't have kept them at bay for long.'

'Lady Morwenna?' Ella asked after the Lady of Avalon, her piercing gaze locked on the ashen-faced steward, who suddenly blanched.

'Dead,' Rowena broke the news instead, unable to hold back another wave of tears as Belin gasped a protest. Those who stood close stared at her in horror and the maiden could not meet their disbelieving gazes. The servants who had served her for so many years began to wail at the loss of the beloved Lady of Avalon.

'What do we do now?' Ella stuttered tearfully. The news that her old rival had fallen bit deep, but still the whore desperately tried to find an escape for the cowering household.

'I don't know,' Lambert sighed dejectedly, 'we could barricade the door, but it won't hold them….'

A thunderous crash silenced him, signalling that the keep had been breached. The trapped household cried out in terror as the shouting of armed men baying for blood. Soon the screams of those who had fallen into their clutches added to the rising panic.

In that awful moment, Lambert decided what his fate would be. Shoving his pleading wife away, the steward sprang for the hall's door with the ungainly sword still clasped in his hand.

'Close the door,' Lambert yelled out, striding bravely into the gloomy corridor and ignoring his wife's anguished cry as she watched her husband walk to his doom. Lambert was no warrior, but he willingly gave his life to buy the household he had served loyally more time to mount a credible defence against the scourge currently sacking Avalon.

It was Rowena who had the good sense to obey Lambert so that his sacrifice was not wasted. The great door slammed shut with a flick of her wand, shaking on its hinges as a gust of wind issued from Rowena's wand and forced it shut. Then the witch set about casting as many spells as she could think of to reinforce the threshold. It would do little to stop them, so Rowena decided to throw the ancient stone table of Arthur away from where it had hung proudly from Avalon's rafters and flung it against the hall's door. Usually, she would have been horrified at the abuse of a treasured relic, but her need was great. Rowena panted heavily with the strain of summoning the heavy table, but she ignored her fatigue to add more spells t the hall's makeshift defence. The sound of a brief struggle outside the door gave way to the renewed hammering of spells and axes as the assault continued upon the unexpected barrier. Heloise whimpered, knowing that her husband was dead.

Rowena's spell work gained the inhabitants almost two hours of freedom as she fixed any gaps hewed from the door and hexed any man she saw trying to scramble inside. It proved crucial to their survival and as the tale was retold the young witch flushed with the praise lauded upon her. Even Ella, the harshest of critics, could not hide her admiration for Rowena. But when all hope had seemingly fled with the arrival of Bellême, whose wand blew the doors apart with such terrible force that it shattered the ancient stone table in half and sent it toppling aside in a cloud of dust and magical residue, it was Rowena who boldly confronted the notorious fae-knight. It was this courage which enabled reinforcements to reach Avalon and cast the invaders out.

A blushing Rowena glanced at Godric with the unspoken hope of seeing admiration shining in the young knight's eyes. However, her hopes were dashed when she discovered that Godric's gaze was locked on the three prisoners. Once the tale of Avalon's fall was told, it was time the prisoners were dealt with.

Beaten and roughly handled, the unfortunate men were forced to their knees before being subjected to Salazar's legilimency. Like Bigot before them, Salazar pierced their minds with brutal efficiency, giving no thought to the pain he undoubtedly caused. The two men-at-arms could not resist him and their screams echoed around the burning castle. However, Bellême had obviously taught his loyal hound a few tricks and Villon battled with Salazar when the latter turned his wand on him.

Yet, despite an initial show of defiance, Villon could not hold against Salazar brutal assault and soon his angelic face was contorted in agony as the younger wizard callously sifted through his memories with scarce regard for the damage he did. The survivors watched on without a shred of pity, for their loved ones had suffered worse at the hands of the invaders.

Salazar eventually stepped back, his brow dampened by sweat and grime. He nodded once in weary satisfaction, allowing Godric to take his place, a borrowed sword clutched in his hand to replace his own broken blade.

'You came here,' Godric growled, 'to bring war and death to the innocent. You have pillaged Avalon, burning its sacred groves and butchering its people, disregarding the laws of magical Britain. Your lives are forfeit, for such crimes belong to a bygone age and have no place in this world. If you have something to say, then you should speak now, for no mercy will be given.'

The men-at-arms whimpered as Godric's shadow towered over them, their minds addled by Salazar's interrogation. Again, only Villon dared to meet the young knight's glare. For a moment, it looked as if Villon would speak, but then he spat a glob of bloodied saliva onto Godric's boots, laughing sneeringly and displaying no remorse for his murderous deeds as Godric's face twisted with rage.

'My brother will have revenge, Gryffindor…'

Villon's laughter was short lived, cut short by the sword Godric held. The young knight's fury was uncontrollable and the beast within him shook off its chains and fuelled the fire in his blood. The sword rose and fell upon its defenceless victims, but Godric did not care. In that moment, his world was ruled by anger and the revulsion he had felt when Alain had hung their prisoners was forgotten as the sword struck again and again, tearing and hacking at the three men until only bloodied shreds remained. Godric's laboured breath and the squelch of steel brutalising flesh joined the roar of the building flames. Only when his body was coated in gore and Villon's angelic features were rendered unrecognisable did Godric's sword finally come to a halt.

Breathing heavily from the sudden frenzied exertion, Godric turned to his friends and found a host of conflicting emotions marring the faces before him. Many had paled at Godric's brutal revenge and many of the servants were forced to twist away from the bloodshed and vomit into the mud. Belin looked forlorn, whilst Hamon, Ella and even some of the battle hardened retainers were surprised by Godric's ruthless bloodletting. Godric couldn't blame them. He imagined that he looked like a spectre from the dark recesses of nightmares.

Bathed in the blood of his enemies, he willed himself to face Rowena. She was regarding him with an unreadable expression, having paled even further since he had unleashed his fury. Godric looked away quickly, fearing to see her aversion and locked gazes with Salazar. His oldest friend smiled grimly, conveying his support for Godric's actions. Salazar didn't bother to hide his belief that Villon and his companions had merited worse, for the revenge Salazar desired would have been far more horrible and not as mercifully quick.

A thunderous roar deafened them as the stables collapsed and the subsequent tempest of billowing smoke initiated a fresh wave of frightened cries. The scorching flames spread further and the heat and smoke were becoming unbearable. Avalon's magic was failing as swiftly as its walls were crumbling and the time had come to abandon the island.

The corpse laden carts were drawn by magic, appearing as if invisible beasts pulled them through the clogging mud. Spells of concealment were cast before the refugees dared the road, creeping out of the shadow of the castle's gatehouse as the wizards amongst them cast water charms to keep the licking flames at bay. The stone figures towered silently over them as the refugees slipped by. These guardians had defended Avalon for the last time. Now, their duty done, they would remain in the smouldering ruins and Godric saw them standing tall and proud in the shadows of the broken gatehouse as their bodies were consumed by fire and crumbled into ash.

'What about your mirrors?' Hamon jested lightly, his tone lacking its usual humour.

'Let the flames keep them,' Salazar replied dejectedly. The fate of his prized palace of mirrors dwindled in comparison to that which had befallen Avalon.

Once they had reached the foot of the island and rested there. Free of the sullied air above them, they were relieved to find no sign of Bellême or the remnants of his warband. The Norman baron had fled the island, most likely seek refuge in the strongholds of the Welsh Marches where he would wait for the King's wrath and the inevitable backlash triggered by his attack on Avalon to break upon him

However, Godric insisted that they remain vigilant. The threat from attack lingered and there were fouler things than violent knights dwelling in Avalon's marshes. When one of the retainers heard the patter of approaching claws and a menacing snarl, whatever creature stalked them in the mists was only driven away by a goose-feathered warning fired by Gawain. Two of Bellême's men had not been as fortunate, judging by the torn armour and gnawed limbs left in the reeds, suggesting that their fates had been terrible.

Salazar surmised that the two retainers must have become separated from Bellême's band when they'd gotten lost in the mists before falling foul of a creature which had butchered them, dragging their carcasses into its watery lair. A bloody trail led into the mists, but the refugees had no desire to follow it. Their awful fates prompted the surviving fighters to be alert to any danger as they peered into the mists and waited for Gervais, Efnysien and several retainers to bring back the horses they had left beside the broken Ferryman. Once the proud beasts were rounded up, the refugees started out with Hamon and Salazar summoning the ailing magic to guide them.

Godric remained behind, unable to turn away from Avalon. This had been his home; a castle where love, honour and friendship had been showered upon a young boy who had been starved of it for most of his life. A place where it had seemed dreams could be fashioned into reality. He reflected on how the stronghold had looked in all its glory when he had first arrived, with shining banners fluttering in the cool breeze and magic glowing from every golden glade.

The Isle of Apples, a place which had once exuded love and serenity, was now being eaten away by fire and hate. Its sacred places were desecrated and its ancient magic was broken, leaving nothing but cherished memories for Godric to remember it by. Yet, the sight of Avalon in flames still did not provoke tears from Godric. The young knight felt numb as he watched Avalon's hill burning like a giant whose head was crowned in flames. Instead of golden leaves, flakes of ash and embers fell from Eira's Fall as the blackened smoke finally began to cover the crumbling castle, hiding it from Godric behind an impenetrable veil. Rowena's hand closed around Godric's and urged him to come away until the hill had disappeared entirely. Godric sighed heavily, for Avalon was gone and a beacon of magic which had shone for thousands of years was finally extinguished…

* * *

Three more chapters down, five more to go! Avalon is no more and Morwenna is dead, along with many others. Along with 'Dancer by the Fire' and 'Trial by Battle,' I think these three chapters were the most fun to write. As always, I hoped you all enjoyed it. Please feel free to review, follow and share with friends. The next two chapters will be posted on Tuesday or Wednesday.


	39. Thirty-Eight: The Flame-bearer

**The Flame-bearer**

Godric remained with the refugees until they'd cleared the marshes unharmed and reached the roads which would lead them to Black-Hollow. Only then did he judge it time to depart.

Ever since his ill-fated duel with Bellême, a nagging fear had begun to creep into his heart. Despite his orders to seize the scroll which possessed clues to the whereabouts of the Cauldron of Rebirth, the Norman baron had admitted that his attack on Avalon was a diversion which would ensure that Melusine had a chance to strike Alain down and he was now besieged by a ceaseless dread. He longed to find his uncle and assist him in his revenge. There would be no petitioning the Wizengamot for justice, for once the Lord of Avalon discovered that his wife was dead and his castle destroyed, then nothing would thwart him.

Godric would not be dissuaded from fighting at Alain's side when he brought a war to his enemies. However, first he'd have to find him and with Bellême promising that the Lord of Avalon was dead, Godric wasted no time in disclosing his intentions to his friends.

'You're wounded,' Rowena pointed out. She had barely left Godric's side since they had abandoned Avalon to the flames, despite the young knight's determination to brood in silence.

'I can fight,' Godric responded dismissively, rolling his shoulder to prove it. He hid his discomfort at the searing pain well, although he knew that Rowena was not fooled. The witch huffed in frustration before gesturing for Salazar to support her protests. But Salazar was no ally, for he shared Godric's desire and was reluctant to do it without his friend's wand by his side.

'We all carry wounds,' shrugged Salazar, suddenly restless with anticipation for the pursuit, 'and Godric can be a bloody stubborn bastard when he is like this. Let him come; squabbling will only waste the precious little time we have left to find Lord Alain before Lady Melusine does.'

Rowena didn't look happy with this announcement, but she ceased her protests when she recognised the concern her friends were unable to mask. Seeing the futility of arguing further, Rowena resolutely declared that she would go with them.

'No,' Godric immediately objected,

'No?' Rowena hissed, her eyes narrowing, 'who are you to deny me?'

'Rowena,' he continued warningly, undeterred by the glare the witch levelled at him.

'Don't make me put you on your backside again,' Rowena replied with a frown. She didn't look like she was jesting.

'Let her go in Hamon's place,' Ella interrupted them, bringing their argument to a premature close and ignoring the mortified expression on the young Muggle's face, 'she held her own against one of the most powerful wizards in Britain back in Avalon. You'll need all the help she can offer if you are challenged.'

'What about me?' Hamon spluttered indignantly,

'You cannot move your hand,' Ella told him gently, resting a consoling hand on his arm and treating his bruised pride gently, 'the curse will not heal and your fingers do not obey your commands. Besides, your wits are still dazed from the wound on your head and wizards can cover greater distances without conventional means. I fear that your health will only deteriorate further if you travel by magic. You should remain here and lead the rest of us to safety. Many of the survivors would feel safer being led by a familiar face, myself included.'

Hamon only looked slightly mollified by Ella's explanation. He could not hide his fears over the wounds he'd suffered, for his ugly, mutilated hand now lacked two missing fingers and could no longer grip the handle of a shield without it falling to the floor. Godric exchanged a look with Salazar, neither wizard fooled. They knew Ella's suggestion was inspired by a desire to keep Hamon as far away from trouble as she could, for if Alain still lived then there was sure to be further fighting ahead.

It was decided that Godric and Salazar would leave to go and search for Alain. Rowena would join them, and a mail tunic was hastily scrounged for her to wear. Despite her obvious discomfort at wearing something so heavy and cumbersome, Godric felt his blood turn to fire at the sight of Rowena dressed for war, but the desperate nature of their predicament quickly overruled the lust he felt. However, he couldn't quite mask his emotions when Rowena grasped his hand and smiled nervously up at him as they prepared to leave. Hamon wished them well before the three friends disappeared, their hands interlocked as they apparated to the Welsh clearing where they had last parted with the Lord of Avalon.

They reappeared with a loud crack. A doe which had been grazing on berries in a riverside meadow was startled by their loud arrival and sprang away into the shadows of the trees, whilst disgruntled birds squawked in protest. However, their cries were soon drowned out by Godric's curses after falling over upon landing and rolling into the river's shallows. Ignoring the inherent danger for a moment, his companions could not hold back their laughter.

Godric crawled out of the mud and the humour in his misfortune soon died as the three companions scanned the place of slaughter of signs of life. Pale corpses still littered the ground amongst discarded and broken weapons, stripped of all their valuable trinkets whilst the blackened skeleton of one of the makeshift huts swayed on the point of collapse in the wind. Godric and Salazar grimaced at the overwhelming stench, but Rowen blanched at the grizzly sight of many torn and butchered bodies.

'Who fought here?' she asked, fearing for her father's life.

'We did,' Salazar answered, before appeasing her growing anxiety, 'Lord Alain led an attack on the largest warband which had been marauding through these valleys. We killed all but one of the raiders.' Godric wondered what had become of Ramon Bigot, for the dishonoured wizard was nowhere to be seen.

They didn't waste any time lingering on the haunting battlefield. The Lord of Avalon had ridden north and they had left in haste, having no time to cover any signs of their flight. More marks were left by those who hunted them, dozens of them, and their presence only encouraged them to march more quickly. Alain's path had taken him into the dense labyrinth of steep valleys, leading Melusine away from the direction Godric and his companions had ridden in.

The surrounding land remained unspoiled and there was no evidence that another battle had been fought since the raiders had met their demise. They pushed on, walking for hours as they followed the churned trails the stampeding horses had left in their wake, clambering over rocks, roots, and streams as they pursued them. However, the longer they trudged through the Welsh hills, the more they became aware that they were running out of time.

Eventually, they managed to stumble upon small signs of the Lord of Avalon's flight. Trees were scarred with spell fire or were found to have an arrow embedded in their bark. Almost an hour later, they came across several dead men. Two had been cut down by spells, whilst a third was impaled upon a broken lance. A tattered tunic revealed the white falcon emblem, revealing that the Ragnarssons and their kin had followed Melusine to seek vengeance against Alain. These men had obviously blundered too close to Alain's retinue and their deaths gave the three friends hope that the Lord of Avalon had managed to break through the ring of wolves closing in on him. Yet, Melusine's men still pursued them and when the three companions neared the foot of a towering gorge, their hopes received a severe blow.

A horse, its maddened eyes wide in its panic as it thundered past them. It was alone, but Godric and Salazar recognised its breeding as one of the warhorses Alain favoured. However, its silver coat was blemished by a splatter of blood.

As the senseless creature bolted into the wilds beyond them, their eyes turned towards the rocky gorge, although they paused when they spotted a dark, whispery cloud hovering over the rocks at the gorge's feet. The night was looming and the sun had started its western descent by the time they had stumbled nearer and discovered that it was no cloud at all, but a circling flock of swarming carrion. Soon, the reason for their presence was revealed.

The feathery fiends had descended upon a place scarred by slaughter until a well-aimed spell cast by Salazar sent them scarpering away in a flurry of wings and screeching objections. The eaters of the dead did not go far, perching on the branches of the nearby treeline to watch the wizards with beady, opportunistic eyes. Their rout revealed the feast they were dining upon. Dozens of corpses lay strewn across the steep rocks on one side of the steep gorge; their stench was staggering and almost made the Scottish witch retch. They crept cautiously towards the battlefield, their weapons held ready as their disbelieving eyes scanned it for any signs of life and found none. But their eyes were continuously drawn to the bleeding bodies before eventually being drawn to the solitary standard standing amongst the rocks, its banner torn and limp. Yet, the silver apple of Avalon which had adorned it was still recognisable in the shreds of the once embroidered cloth.

The rocks were made slippery and treacherous by the blood spilled. Discarded weapons and chopped limbs were scattered beside the fallen, for Salazar's worst fears had been realised. Alain had never intended on leading Melusine in a dance through the hills. He was an experienced warrior who instantly knew that he could neither break free from the trap Melusine had sprung nor outrun her wolves. Surrounded, outnumbered and as proud as any great wizard who had wielded a wand in battle, the Lord of Avalon had sought out a place where he could defiantly raise his banner and fight to the death. His loyal followers and friends followed him unquestioningly, willingly giving their lives for Alain's cause.

The three friends paled as they made their way past bodies cut down by spells and swords. The battle must have been a fiercely brutal contest, for many of the corpses they recognised as those who had mustered in Avalon and fought beside them in recent weeks were lacerated by multiple wounds. Scrutinising the dead, they were not surprised to discover that many of them bore the devices of Melusine, Bellême and the Ragnarssons. Hatred and rage stirred in their hearts at the sight.

They clambered on, tripping and slipping on the scree beneath their feet as they climbed higher, finding more bodies as they went. Cresting a boulder, Godric heard a gut-wrenching mewling noise escape Salazar as the true tragedy of the battle was unveiled. It was the strangest sound Godric had ever heard his friend unleash. Salazar collapsed to his knees, his breath ragged as Rowena reached him and released a horrified gasp. The maiden turned swiftly, her face deathly pale, and insisted that Godric went no further. Godric ignored her desperate plea, gently moving her aside and striding past.

Only to an abrupt halt at the sight of the corpse which lay beyond the weeping witch.

Alain the Flame-bearer was dead, for the King's Grand-Sorcerer and the last Lord of Avalon had finally fallen in battle.

It didn't seem possible. Godric suddenly staggered and would have fallen if Rowena hadn't hastily gripped his arm to steady him. The young knight didn't even have the sense to acknowledge her aid, for all he could do was stare blankly at the grisly corpse which had once been his beloved uncle. It seemed inconceivable to Godric.

But there could be no denying it. The corpse's once magnificent armour was still recognisable despite the many tortures inflicted upon it and no other warrior was cloaked in grey. It was Alain of Avalon, for they had arrived too late and Alain had been killed. However, even Godric struggled to recognise his uncle in the blood-splattered and desecrated face before him. Melusine's animosity had not ended with her rival's death and she had vindictively mutilated Alain's body. The Lord of Avalon's eyes had been gouged out and his body defiled in the vilest ways. Melusine was famous for being as ruthless as she was fair faced, but her treatment of fallen enemy's body went against all the codes of honour wizards abided by in the magical world and only served to emphasise her cruelty.

Salazar rested his head on his master's scorched chest, weeping bitterly and shaking with the force of his sobbing. The wizard usually guarded his emotions well, but he could not hold back his tears or the grief which consumed him at the loss of the man who had plucked Salazar from obscurity and starvation on the foul banks of the Thames. In the following years, Alain had provided him with all the skills and tools an accomplished wizard would need in manhood, whilst also giving Salazar the first home he'd had since his family had perished. Now, both the man and the home were gone and Salazar wept for them. Rowena joined him, fresh tears streaming down her face. The young witch may not have known Alain well, but she wept for the hurt her friends were feeling and the loss of one of magical Britain's oldest and most sacred of places.

Godric did not weep. He remained frozen for several heartbeats, staring blankly at his uncle's corpse as if he was unable to grasp the magnitude of the misfortune which had befallen him. Unknown to him, a stone exploded in a cloud of dust as Godric's magic responded to the swelling waves of emotion which threatened to overwhelm him. Then he shuddered and slowly turned away. He'd experienced some grisly sights in his young life, but the wounds on his uncle's body were too much for him to stomach.

He occupied his mind with finding the corpses of those who had given their lives for Alain. He discovered Isolde beside Avalon's banner, blood at her lips and the shattered blade which had stolen her life still embedded in her chest. Dewa Swift-wand also lay nearby, his skull broken and his eyes staring blankly at the darkening sky. Slowly, more of their friends and comrades were uncovered, their bodies still lacerated with wounds which painted a bloody picture of their last moments in this world.

Godric knew that Hugh Troll-Bane was dead. No one would have been able to take Alain's life whilst the Lord of Avalon's champion still lived. It came as a hammering blow to Godric when Hugh's corpse was discovered half-buried beneath half-a-dozen bodies. Hugh was a towering figure in Godric's life, an indomitable pillar who had been the first to recognise Godric's potential and nurture it. Godric had come to believe that Hugh, who had survived scores of battles, would never fall. A fool's belief, for all men were mortals.

Troll-Bane was no god and the greatest paladin of his age had finally been felled. He had died fighting, defending Alain with both his sword and his body. Judging by the wounds inflicted upon him, from broken arrow shafts and spells burns to the cuts and thrusts of steel, Hugh had fought and mauled his enemy until his very last breath escaped him. Bending down beside the corpse, Godric noted how Hugh's hand still clutched his famous sword, which was buried between his final victim's ribs. Godric tugged the sword free and then pressed his mentor's cold hands about the hilt. He would pass the great sword to Hamon, a trophy of his father's bravery in his final moments.

Godric stood stiffly, his legs cramping from their recent exertions. He scanned the battlefield for Salazar and discovered that his friend had wandered away from the slaughter, cursing as he shed furious tears. Godric let him go, understanding that Salazar needed a moment to gather his troubled mind. Rowena, her presence momentarily forgotten in the aftermath of Alain's tragic fate, did not stray far from Godric.

'I have always respected strong women,' Rowena said gently as she reached his side. She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, as if by cradling her heart she could seek some comfort, 'I remember watching Lady Melusine on Ynys Mon and admiring how she held her own against some of the most powerful men in Britain. She is the last descendant of Merlin, what I thought was an honourable bloodline…'

Godric didn't look at Rowena, despite his rising incredulity that the witch would dare to praise the she-wolf responsible for his uncle's death. However, he managed to restrain his anger and held his tongue until Rowena continued,

'…I know that your uncle was hated by many. Greatness always breeds envy and no reputed warrior can live without a feud being declared against them. But no matter what Lord Alain did in life, no man deserves to have his body mutilated in death. It goes against the very customs we claim to cherish. Now that I have witnessed the evil that Melusine is capable of wielding, I no longer admire a witch whose heart is plagued by such an abhorrent lust for power. I can't imagine what wretched fate awaits her…'

'She'll die,' Godric promised darkly. Rowena glanced at Godric and sighed when she saw his dull and lifeless gaze. She recognised the look in the young knight's eyes and saw the same bloodlust which had consumed him when Godric had fought his duel against the Icelander and when he had butchered their prisoners in Avalon's burning bailey. Rowena exhaled, releasing a shuddering breath and prepared to confront an aspect of Godric's character that was rarely exposed. It triggered a fluttering nervousness the witch had never felt before, even when defying Bellême.

A roll of thunder rumbled in the distance and black clouds were mustering over the Welsh hills. They were closing in fast for the wind had picked up, disturbing the stillness which had fallen over the battleground. Fortunately, a shout interrupted Rowena before she could challenge her grieving friend. Their gazes turned to see Salazar gesturing at them urgently. Drawing their wands, Godric and Rowena slid down the loose rocks and dashed towards Salazar, their eyes scanning the treeline for danger. As they hurried closer, they found Salazar crouching over a giant mangled corpse which was sprawled over the roots of a towering tree.

Yet, what they had first thought was a giant soon turned out to be two stricken bodies. The first man was dead, his throat cleaved open to the bone so that his head hung half severed from his shoulders. His blood had drenched the broken corpse below him; a corpse which suddenly uttered an agonised groan.

Rowena shrieked in surprise and even Godric flinched at the sound before the young knight crouched down beside Salazar and helped to heave the dead man aside. Rolling the corpse away, the three friends stared in stunned silence as it revealed the miserable face of Bayard le Boar. The thickset knight peered at them beadily through a stiff mask of bloodied gore,

'It's about time you ugly bastards showed up,' Bayard croaked weakly, shifting slightly as his body was freed from the weight of the fallen man. However, the sudden movement sent a jolt of excruciating pain soaring through Bayard's body, causing him to howl in agony before slumping pitifully back into the blood-stained mud as his consciousness slipped away. His three rescuers stared at each other, their faces expressing their shock and relief that Bayard still lived. Yet, from the swirling pit of warring emotions rose the most prevalent thought of all. The Lord of Avalon may have been killed, but with Bayard alive, they still learn how they died.

It didn't take them long to find a narrow cave gouged deep into the rocky crag. Steep valley sides and dense woodland sheltered them from prying eyes as they sought refuge away from the purged stench of death. None of the three companions wanted to remain in that bloody place where ghosts and spirits lingered amongst the dead.

Rowena levitated Bayard's broken body to the cave where she began to examine his wounds. Yet, despite her gentle care, the warrior's pain was great and he could not restrain the screams of agony which were torn from him. Meanwhile, Godric and Salazar laboured to bring the bodies of their fallen comrades to the cave, placing them against the deepest wall of the cavern and conjuring cloaks to hide their wounds. The corpses of their enemies were left to rot, a welcome feast for the carrion and wild scavengers was prowling the land.

Godric searched for any personal effects which could not join the afterlife, but Hugh's sword was the only treasure which had escaped the attentions of Melusine's followers. Salazar scribbled a short message on a piece of torn cloth, tied it to the talons of a red kite he'd managed to charm into obeying his commands. He let the bird loose, hoping that it would reach Mynydd-y-ser soon, for they all feared that Melusine or the lawless men who stalked the woods would return to pillage the dead.

Night fell and the rains which had threatened them all day finally broke into heavy showers by the time Godric and Salazar, soaked and exhausted from the exertions of the past few days, trudged tiredly back to the cave and settled beside the fire. Rowena glanced up with shadowed eyes as they groaned, before returning to tend to Bayard's wounds. She had stripped the knight to his waist, where he now lay on his stomach so that she could examine the most grievous of Bayard's wounds. The two wizards grimaced when they saw the ugly, discoloured flesh which marred Bayard's back. Fortunately, Bayard did not see them, missing the concerned glances his rescuers shared. Rowena did her best for him, but it was clear that Bayard would need the attention of a more experienced healer, especially if the knight could no longer feel anything beneath his waist.

Rowena placed her wand down and pulled a cloak over Bayard, before sitting back and rubbing at her tired eyes. Salazar smiled at her, passing over a morsel of gristly beef which had been salvaged from Avalon's kitchens before the fires claimed them. Godric looked at no one, merely staring into the crackling flames,

'Drink?' Bayard croaked, his pitiful voice puncturing the silence. Salazar responded immediately and with a wave of his wand he had conjured a simple wooden cup and filled it with clear, refreshing water. He held it to Bayard's lips, allowing the warrior to drink from it.

'Drink this,' Salazar advised him softly,

Bayard sipped it with blistered lips, before grimacing in distaste.

'Water?' he mumbled 'I'd rather drink piss. Is there no ale?'

'We had no time to salvage any,' Salazar said patiently,

'Then God has truly forsaken me,' he groaned dejectedly. Nevertheless, he drank until his ravaging thirst was somewhat sated. The big man sighed, then winced in agony as he tried to shift his injured body.

'Rest,' Rowena soothed him,

'I'll rest when I'm dead,' Bayard growled back impatiently before he fell quiet and looked at the young knights and maiden sat beside him, 'Avalon?'

A long silence followed,

'Gone.' Salazar sighed bluntly. Bayard closed his eyes and to their surprise released a shuddering breath,

'I thought it must have,' the wounded knight muttered darkly, 'were there any survivors?'

'Some,' Rowena said, 'and I was amongst them. If it wasn't for these two here, and those who gave their lives to defend Avalon, then I would be dead or enslaved.'

'Who was behind it?'

'Bellême,' Salazar growled hatefully, 'on Melusine's orders. He'd set fire to Avalon and was putting our friends to the sword before we drove him away. Many died in the struggle, Morwenna amongst them.'

'No!' Bayard choked out in despair at the terrible fate which had befallen Avalon. His companions remained silent as he wept, letting him grieve without interruption. Once his sobs became subdued, Salazar broached the question he'd been waiting to ask since stumbling upon the battlefield.

'What happened here?'

'We fought,' the big man grunted, 'and died.'

'That's not good enough, Bayard,' Salazar interjected harshly, drawing a reproachful frown from Rowena in his direction, 'you know we need more than that. Tell us how Alain died?'

Bayard remained silent for a while,

'All of it?' he finally whispered,

'All of it,' Godric confirmed, still staring into the flames. Bayard breathed deeply as if rallying his failing strength to retell his tale. His companions gave him their full attention, leaning close so that they could hear the story of Alain of Avalon's final, brutal battle.

Alain had ridden away from the battlefield as soon as the echo of galloping horses died. They fled north, leaving the grisly reminder of their attack on the raiders to rot behind them. Bigot was stripped naked, branded with the magical mark of a coward and had his wand snapped before they abandoned him in the mud and blood. His fate didn't concern Alain of Avalon, for Bigot was nothing but an opportunistic fool compared to the enemy coming to kill him.

The Lord of Avalon was encircled by a ring of swords and wands which he could not hope to break out of without a fight. The She-Wolf and her pack of killers haunted the surrounding woodland, prowling unseen amongst the trees and hills as they awaited the signal to strike. Alain could have fled, but only dishonour and shame lay in abandoning retainers who were willing to sacrifice everything to fight by his side. He returned their devotion with his own loyalty and no one even voiced it for they knew the Lord of Avalon would never condone it.

A few loose spells and arrows flew at them from the shadows, but they failed to slow Alain's progress. Hugh Troll-Bane led the company, his eye for reading the landscape outmatching all his companions and the Lord of Avalon trusted his friend's ability to find a defensible position in which to raise Alain's banner. It was Hugh who first clashed with several of Melusine's men who blundered into their path and were ruthlessly dispatched before plowing on until a great gorge loomed over them.

Steep slopes littered with boulders and loose stones would ensure that if they chose to fight then they would not have to fear being surrounded and Melusine's followers would have to break from the cover of the woods to give battle on the vulnerable ground between the trees and rocky outcrops. Hugh called a halt and most of Alain's companions immediately dismounted and armed themselves as Gilbert scrambled up the slope and wedged the standard between the rocks so that the banner of Avalon flew defiantly in the wind above them.

Bayard remained in his saddle, scanning the place where they would make their final stand approvingly,

'This is a good enough place to die...'

He was still grinning when the spell hit him.

The spell made a thunderous noise as it struck, flinging the knight from his horse and hurling him twenty feet until he collided with a nearby tree. The knight cried out, his scream lost amongst the wild cries of panicked horses fleeing in fright as spells and arrows flew through the air. Bayard heard the crack of breaking bones at the impact with the tree before an all-consuming pain consumed him. He was barely aware of Isolde screaming his name over shouts of alarm and the keening shrieks of men swooping in for the kill.

As Bayard collapsed in an undignified heap, he heard Isolde shout a spell and felt blood splatter over him as a stinking body collapsed on top of him, driving the breath from his body and succeeding in concealing Bayard from the eyes of the men who ran past him. Unconsciousness did not claim him, but when Bayard tried to move his body would not obey his commands. Lying stricken in the undergrowth, Bayard was forced to watch on hopelessly as his friends fought and died.

Gilbert blew one last rallying cry on his horn before he discarded it and rushed to join his comrades in encircling the Lord of Avalon's banner as a hail of spells and arrows were thrown at them. Kite-shaped shields and glowing charms deflected most of the missiles as Alain's warband roared their defiance and prepared to meet the thunderous tide of screaming warriors with cold steel and deadly magic.

'It has been the highest honour,' Alain shouted over the war cries, 'to fight with you; the greatest warriors of Britain. If we are destined to die here, then we will meet our ends with deeds so heroic that the bards will sing of them for a thousand years. Fight for honour and Avalon. Fight for Britain!'

His final cry was taken up by the warriors and wizards around him until it rose in a crescendo to drown out the howls of the enemy. All sense of time was forgotten as the killing began with the crackle of fierce spell fire and the clash of swords. Time and time again, Melusine's followers were thrown back by the Lord of Avalon and his warriors. But the fighting was fierce and men started to die on both sides.

The young and untried adventurers in Alain's band were the first to fall, although they fought well and brought honour to their names as they met their ends bravely. The band of close companions who had accompanied Dewa Swiftwand fared better, adopting the tactics of their ancestors by forming a shield-wall of charms. The fight about them was hard fought and the mound of corpses which slowly grew at their feet was a testament to their courage and loyalty to each other. Yet, as their minds and muscles tired from the never-ending stream of opponents, gaps began to appear in their defences and Melusine's followers leaped into them, thrusting with sharp swords and firing spells from flaming wands until the rocks below them were stained with gore.

It was the knights and wizards of Avalon who inflicted the worst casualties of the battle, displaying a brutal efficiency honed from years being drilled together on the tiltyard. They knew their companions strengths and fought as one. Even as the first of Melusine's men fell in the opening moments to Isolde's vengeful spell, Alain's loyal household retainers assembled about him and faced the oncoming wave of screaming men, led by Alain and Hugh, who barked orders and fought beside them in the line of battle.

They clashed in a frenzy of bloodletting and with the courage of those who knew that death was inevitable but wished to ensure that when they reached the afterlife, it would be in glory like the heroes of ancient times. Swords cleaved through flesh and spells flung broken bodies away as the Lord of Avalon's retinue struggled on. They were led by Alain's heroic efforts, for he wielded his sword and magic in a terrifying demonstration of the power the Lord of Avalon could command when enraged.

Yet, no matter how many of Melusine's followers died, the enemy was many and they were few.

Tobias fell first, slowed by the dark curse which had wounded him and killed by biting swords and lancing spear heads. Gilbert died soon after, his body bleeding as he flung his broken sword aside and threw himself onto his opponents, tearing at them with his bare hands until his skull was crushed by an axe.

Seeing his friends die, Alain hurled a blasting hex towards the sharp rocks at the gorges summit, causing an avalanche of cascading rocks to crush four warriors who foolishly tried to outflank his retinue. The rest of their comrades were sent scurrying for safety, pursued by falling stones which ensured that they would not try the bold maneuver again. In its place and driven by the fates of their own fallen companions, Melusine's wolves launched a fresh assault on the Lord of Avalon, clambering to confront the tiring warriors who tried to throw them back.

Isolde fell back until she stood defensively in front of Alain's banner, beginning to hiss a wild battle cry as she dared her opponents to come and meet their fates. A hurt but still rampaging Dewa joined her there and both Alain and Hugh stepped back to fight with them. A mound of corpses lay at Troll-Bane's feet and a maddened smile presented a frightening mask as he wielded his great sword with ruthless efficiency and used his shield to batter aside his opponents. When the scarred shield shattered into flimsy planks, Hugh discarded it by thrusting the broken splinters into a man's throat and kicking the corpse aside, swung his sword in both hands as he turned to confront an enemy who reluctantly approached him cautiously over the bodies of their dead.

A surprised grunt signalled Dewa's demise, a lance thrusting into his groin to unravel his guts before a spell bludgeoned his body back into the rocks. As bloodied pieces of brain and fractured skull splattered his remaining companions, a spell slipped past Isolde and Hugh's guard and struck Alain in the side. His enchanted armour soaked up most of the bruising impact, but it was still enough to lacerate flesh and break ribs. The Lord of Avalon roared and stumbled backward, dropping his sword and narrowly avoiding collapsing by desperately gripping onto the sharp rocks with a red and sticky hand. He breathed deeply before he once again summoned his failing strength and courageously re-joined his surviving retainers. Exhausted, reeling from the pain of many wounds and despite their renown, the three fighters were quickly tiring. Despite their renown, all three of them were exhausted, reeling from the pain of many wounds and quickly tiring.

Scenting an end to the raging battle, Melusine's followers fell upon them with renewed vigour and as the melee grew even more brutal, Isolde received her death wound. The witch blocked a curse, before crippling a warrior who had been scrambling to meet her. But as he fell away with an agonised cry, another sprang forward to take his place and lunged from beneath his sprawling comrade. Isolde gasped, spitting blood as his blade pierced her body and ripped the breath from her body. She fell to her knees and tried to raise her wand to continue the fight, but another man rushed in and tore her life away with one savage sword stroke across her torso.

Isolde's killers did not live long enough to savour their murderous deeds, for a furious Alain and Hugh were upon them before the witch's corpse had finished the last of her death throes. Once they fell, their bodies turned into bloody ruin by Hugh's sword and Alain's wand, the two lifelong friends prepared for the next onslaught. Hugh had been risking his life to protect Alain for a score of years and now he did so again, throwing his wounded friend behind him and barring the enemy from reaching the Lord of Avalon.

Despite his flesh being torn by sword blows, his bones broken by dark spells and his armoured body punctured by several arrows, Hugh Troll-Bane took the fight to his enemy. He was battle mad, consumed by a haze of bloodlust as he viciously cleaved into them. More blows struck him and still, he fought on, killing and roaring both his rage and hurt to the heavens as Alain hurled a flurry of spells at their assailants, giving his all to aid his last, greatest retainer.

Bayard watched his liege lord fight on beside the best knight in Avalon, but the pain was growing in the knight's broken body. Bayard saw Melusine's warriors surge forward in one last wave of steel and spells, illuminated by the roaring magic Alain unleashed and Hugh's sword flashing as it carved into them until the world spun and Bayard slipped into unconsciousness.

The same agony which caused Bayard to black out was the catalyst for his revival. It took a long time for his vision to clear of blood, but when it did Alain stood alone, battered and bleeding. Melusine's followers crowded about him. The Lord of Avalon had his head bowed as he looked down at the fallen body of Hugh Troll-Bane, for the castellan was dead, proving that no man was invincible. Tears fell freely from his eyes, but he shed none for his own predicament. He wept for the lost friends who gave their lives for him. Forced to lean on a boulder for support as if overcome by exhaustion and the pain from his wounds, he didn't spare a glance for the dozens of warriors who had been killed in Melusine's bid to destroy him.

The She-Wolf's followers may have surrounded the wounded wizard, but none dared to venture close to deliver the killing blow. Alain may be sorely wounded, but he still had a fearsome reputation and his spells had caused the deaths of many during the murderous attack. Despite his laboured breath and burning injuries, Alain's wand could still deal death to any who ventured too close.

A horn call sounded through the gorge and the sea of men parted to reveal Melusine, who had finally arrived to savour her triumph. Merlin's last living descendant strode up the loose scree, looking resplendent in armour which gave her the regal appearance of an all-conquering queen of the ancient world. A victorious smile was emblazoned upon her face, whilst her fair hair hung down her back in a long, well-groomed braid and her eyes shone, rejoicing in seeing Alain brought so low.

Her grim Icelandic lover, Thorvald Ragnarsson, flanked her in dishevelled and battle-scarred armour. It was the Icelander who had struck the killing blow against Hugh, although he needed two bondsmen to aid him and had suffered for his troubles, Thorvald now limped badly from a bloodied gash in his thigh. Moreover, Alain's fury had been so great that a single curse cast by the Lord of Avalon threw Thorvald unceremoniously back down the slope and instantly killed the two bondsmen who had helped him.

Melusine came to a halt before her wounded rival, her calculating gaze lingering on Alain as she resisted the urge to laugh in delight at his downfall.

'How the mighty fall,' Melusine eventually crowed, slowly drawing a wand. Her voice drew Alain's gaze, although he seemed unsurprised to find Melusine there. It would take more willpower than the witch possessed for his rival to resist her desire to watch the Lord of Avalon die.

Bayard didn't hear Alain's reply, but it provoked a shocked gasp from the witch's followers and Thorvald was held back before he could curse the wounded man by his lover's own calming hand. Melusine's expression had lost its smug smile. Bayard struggled to hear what was said next. However, certain snippets failed to escape his pain-ridden senses. He heard them speak of Avalon and the alleged fall of the white castle, but most of it revolved around a mystical relic Bayard had never heard of and which Melusine was prepared to kill for to acquire. When the She-Wolf accused Alain of hoarding the secrets of its final resting place, the Lord of Avalon answered with mocking laughter.

'Avalon burns;' she said coldly in response, 'by now, Bellême will have unleashed such destruction upon it that even Avalon's ancient magic will be forever broken.'

Alain continued to laugh at her.

'Silence you fool!' Melusine snapped, unable to ignore his scorn without challenging it, 'Your castle is gone and your household is destroyed, including that pathetic creature you married. You failed them in life, Cripple, the last Lord of Avalon. Do you realise how weak Britain is without you there to give them courage? The Wizengamot will bow to me or fall, for I am the last of Merlin's descendants and after I am done with you, there will be nothing left of Alain of Avalon to remember.'

'This won't end with my death,' Alain finally said, his laughter having slowly died, 'there are men who will avenge me. They will not rest until you have suffered for what you have done here. What will you do when the lion and serpent come for you?'

'You mean Gryffindor and Slytherin?' she sneered in amusement, 'yes, I let their little band escape, but even if they reached Avalon in time to confront Robert, then they will most likely be dead already. No one challenges Robert and lives. Do you seriously consider your boys a match for my most loyal follower? Do you really think that they can face me and hope to survive?'

'Not alone,' Alain replied resolutely, 'but together they could overcome any challenge this world could conjure to destroy them. They were born to lead the remnants of our world into a glorious age, with hearts and minds far greater than those we possess and who can inspire others to achieve the impossible. They inspired me; not just to strive to be a better wizard but also to be a better man. We have served Britain ill, Melusine, but they shall heal the fractures we caused. You've underestimated them again, Melusine. It is your most glaring flaw, to see everyone as inferior, resisting all inclination to learn from your mistakes.'

'When I have the Cauldron,' Melusine scowled darkly, 'and I have harnessed its power, none will be able to defeat me. Not even your little boys, for I will wield magic that my ancestors could only ever dream of possessing. My beauty and power will bring terror to the hearts of all wizards and I shall return to claim my birth right undisputed. I rejoice in my success, for you will be long dead by then and.'

'No one is immortal, Melusine, not even you,' Alain heaved his failing body away from the boulder and stood tall as he faced his bitter rival, his charred wand clasped in his hand and ready for battle.

Their duel began then and in the years which followed, those who witnessed the battle between the Lord of Avalon and the last descendant of Merlin would be haunted by the memory of it. Despite being wounded and exhausted, Alain was still a powerful wizard and he refused to greet his fate without a fight, for he showed his skill in those last, terrible moments. But Melusine was powerful too, for she was the greatest witch of her bloodline and more powerful than Bayard could have ever anticipated.

She was also a fiercely ruthless fighter and Melusine immediately threw her weakened opponent on the defensive with a barrage of dark curses. Alain refused to scramble away and stoically held his ground against the onslaught, feigning weakness in the face of the sneering Melusine. Bayard had served Alain for so many years that he knew when the Lord of Avalon was holding back. Yet, Melusine suspected nothing, relishing these last moments of her triumph by choosing to toy with her rival as the spells which stung his bleeding body lacked any deadly force. They did not even elicit a sound from Alain, who held back his cries when lesser men would be pleading for the agony to end. Sapped by fatigue and tiring quickly, it did not seem like the Lord of Avalon could last much longer…

Then Alain struck, conjuring one last spell and sending it hurtling at Melusine before the witch could summon a shield to guard against it. The spell struck her flailing hand, as dark as any Alain had ever cast, and Melusine screamed in pain as it tore her arm asunder.

'Finally, we can agree,' Alain said, relying on the last vestiges of his resolve to remain standing in defiance. Only Bayard recognised how much it cost him, 'I will be long dead by the time you reach the Cauldron. But not all the knights of Avalon will be. They will survive to declare a feud on you and not all the magic you can conjure could stop them from killing you. Flee beyond the edges of this world and they will still find you. Heed this final warning, She-Wolf. You can kill me, but soon you'll join all those who have fallen because of your misguided ambitions. Remember that there are no bloodlines in the afterlife.'

Melusine blazed with hate and fury. Her curse was already leaving her wand before Alain had even finished his parting words and was meant to kill, for Alain greeted it with outspread arms, his wand still clutched unused in his hand. Refusing to shield against the fatal spell, the Lord of Avalon simply closed his eyes and used his final breath to whisper the name of his beloved wife one last time.

The spell struck his heart with a dull thud. For one lingering heartbeat, Alain remained standing as the spell instantly took his life. Then his body toppled lifelessly in a shower of scree and laid still.

Silence descended over the gorge as the magnitude of the deed sank into the hearts of all the onlookers. It was over; the Lord of Avalon had fought his last battle. The momentary tranquillity was broken by a scream, for Melusine's wrath exploded from her in a wave of magic which sent her nearest followers scrambling backward. She had intended for Alain to suffer a longer, more torturous death. However, the Lord of Avalon had outwitted his rival, manipulating her anger and her lust for blood sport to acquire one last victory in their long and bitter conflict.

Melusine could never forgive Alain for it. Her choice to desecrate his body appalled even her most ardent supporters. Even Thorvald Ragnarsson argued against it, for despite Icelander's feud against the Lord of Avalon, he still recognised that his enemy had died courageously and deserved the honour of a place in the afterlife. However, Melusine was not so merciful. When she cut out Alain's tongue, gouged out his eyes and mutilated his fallen body in many unfathomable ways, only the most amoral of her followers did not shudder at her needless revenge.

A cloud of carrion birds were soon circling noisily over the blood drenched rocks by the time Melusine's supporters had finally finished looting the dead. By murdering Alain, a crime more terrible in the eyes of wizards than any she had committed before, including the slaughter of her father and his half-Muggle family. Magical Britain would not permit her to live and Melusine was eager to start her quest for the Cauldron of Rebirth. But first, she had to escape from Britain before the Wizengamot mustered an army of wands to hunt her down.

With a last, scornful glance at the Lord of Avalon's corpse, she disappeared with a wave of her wand and soon her wolves slipped away after her, leaving scores of the dead to the birds and beasts. All the while, Bayard continued to lie silent as he dazedly fell in and out of consciousness, unable to wipe away his tears at the fate which had befallen Alain. The big man was sure he would die an ignoble death until, from the shadows of his ailing mind, the three friends had stumbled upon and wrenched the wounded knight from the brink of death.

Back in the warmth of their cave, Bayard finished his tale by bursting into tears.


	40. Thirty-Nine: Love and Honour

**Love and Honour**

With tears soaking his face, Bayard fell silent with a choked sob. Rowena and Salazar were no different, weeping as the broken knight's tale reached its conclusion. Wiping at her eyes, Rowena summoned a small vial of healing potion she had rescued from Avalon's stores and held it to Bayard's lips. He drank it without complaint until the vial was empty. Moments later, Bayard had welcomed the blissful abandon which came with unconsciousness and a drugged state the potent potion would ensure the wounded man stayed in until dawn.

Godric stared unblinkingly into the fire refusing to weep as his mind turned to the She-Wolf. She had forsaken her right to any mercy the moment her spell had taken his uncle's life. Melusine and Bellême; two enemies who would fear the day Godric came to exact his revenge. It was eventually Salazar who broke Godric from his internal reverie, despite directing his question at Rowena,

'What have you given him?' he asked when they were sure Bayard had drifted into sleep.

'A potion for his pain,' Rowena sighed sadly, returning to the small fire, 'it should keep his sleep undisturbed.'

'He's a broken man,' Salazar murmured quietly, 'now, his body fails him and even with the help of magic, he may be crippled and never able to walk again. Worse, it rendered him powerless to die with honour beside his friends.'

Salazar glanced at the cloaked bodies which lay in the shadows of the cave's deepest walls and shuddered.

'It must have been awful,' Rowena said, 'watching those you love fight and die without being able to help them.' Her gaze flickered to Godric, remembering the trial by the battle he had been forced to fight on Ynys Mon. Fear had plagued her heart on the day an untested Godric walked into the arena to challenge an experienced killer. It had lasted until the final moments of the duel when Godric had hacked off the dreaded Icelander's head.

Godric's mind also dwelt on the trial by battle, but he said nothing. Those innocent days seemed like a lifetime ago. Salazar sighed loudly and rubbed at his reddened eyes, verbalising the fatigue which plagued them all.

'Our message should reach Gofanon soon,' he remarked, 'in the meantime, I suggest we get some rest, although I think it would be prudent for one of us to take watch. Melusine's followers may still return and who knows what vagabonds are prowling nearby. Our wards may not be enough to keep them away and we're all exhausted. Someone needs to guard the cave mouth and keep watch for any signs of trouble.'

It was blatantly obvious that Salazar was reluctant to volunteer for the duty when his body was so tired. For the first time since Bayard had recounted his tale, Godric opened his mouth to speak,

'I…'

'Salazar will do it!'

The two friends looked at their companion, Godric frowning in bemusement at Rowena's sudden interruption. But Rowena ignored him. She was staring pointedly at Salazar, who was staring back shrewdly as he recognised her silent plea.

'It isn't a prob…' Godric protested needlessly,

'Salazar will do it,' Rowena interrupted him firmly, although she still avoided Godric's questioning gaze, 'you can hide it all you want, Godric, but you are wounded. Stay by the fire and I will try my best to heal your shoulder.'

'There's no need,' Godric still tried to dissuade her,

'Stay,' she snapped at him impatiently and the sudden authority in her voice made both her companions flinch, 'I have some skill as a healer and I want to make sure that the nature of Bellême's spell wasn't any darker than we first thought. Salazar will take the first watch.'

'I will do it,' Salazar agreed quickly, resorting to ending their squabbling before it could descend into an argument, 'there's a lot I need to think about and I'll get no peace here with you two bickering like this.' He groaned as he rose to his feet and picked up his wand. Godric thought he saw a glimmer of amusement tilt the corner of Salazar's lips upwards as his friend retreated to the cave's mouth and disappeared from view.

An awkward silence followed Salazar's abrupt departure.

'I need to see the wound,' Rowena finally said, nervously fidgeting with her tattered robes. The young witch was glad that her increasingly flushed expression was well hidden in the gloom of the cave, 'you'll have to remove your tunic.'

Godric hesitated, initially reluctant. However, he quickly realised that arguing with Rowena when she was in such a mood would be a futile endeavour.

'I'll need help shifting this hauberk with my shoulder like this,' he admitted with a shrug. Rowena's blush deepened, but she did as he asked, standing so that she could help undress. It took a mighty effort to prise the tarnished mail from his body, a task which caused Godric to cry out in pain as his battered robes slid over his wounded shoulder. Rowena marvelled at its weight, before placing the ruined war-gear aside and helping Godric with removing the stained gambeson, blushing furiously every time her hand accidentally brushed against his skin as he stripped to his hose.

She gasped when she saw the wound.

'You're a fool,' Rowena told him sharply,

'It's been said before,' he sighed, unwilling to argue with her as he sank back down.

'They're not wrong,' she muttered, eying the ugly mark apprehensively. Godric was lucky that his hauberk had taken the brunt of Bellême's curse, sapping it of much of its strength. However, despite his armour's intervention, the curse had still left a jagged gash in the young knight's shoulder, a wound which was bruising rapidly and inflaming the skin around it. How Godric had thought he could fight another battle with such a wound was a testament to both his courage and stubborn recklessness. No matter what Rowena did to heal it, the wound would scar; a stark reminder of how dangerous challenging Bellême could be.

Rowena gently traced a finger over the hot and swollen skin which surrounded the wound. Then lifting her wand over the charred flesh, Rowena chanted what spells she knew could assess the wounds for any remnants of dark magic. She breathed out a soft sigh of relief when she discovered that not much remained, although her frown at Godric's stubborn refusal to see to his injuries never waned.

'You're very fortunate,' Rowena mumbled in disapproval as she examined him, 'only tendrils of dark magic are left and it's nothing a few spells and potions could dispel. You'll probably have a scar to remember it by.'

'Another one,' Godric shrugged carelessly and Rowena resisted the urge to hit his wounded shoulder.

'It's no laughing matter,' she replied sternly, 'that spell could have crippled you. Worse, it may have killed you if your luck had not held. Why you haven't had the sense to get it seen to is beyond my understanding.'

'Lord Alain needed me,' Godric mumbled, 'or so I hoped…'

'How much help would you have been with your shoulder like this?' Rowena pointed out in exasperation. She pressed her fingers against the inflamed flesh again, provoking a hissed curse from Godric, 'you're a great warrior Godric, but you can be a stubborn fool sometimes. Now stay still, I have to clean it before I dare use any actual healing spells.'

Rowena began by tearing great strips of cloth from her skirts. Cleaning and soaking them with spells, she leaned over Godric and started to clean the hideous wound, slapping his hand away impatiently when the young knight raised it in protest. Godric gulped. His blood felt like it was on fire and he doubted it was due to the effects of the magic being cast on him or the cold water which drenched the rags she used. He didn't speak, observing Rowena as every touch muddled his senses. She was biting her lip as she inspected the wound; leaning so close that Godric could feel her breath breaking against his skin. Godric shuddered.

'Am I hurting you?' she asked him worriedly, glancing up briefly to find Godric blushing furiously.

'No,' he all but squeaked, quickly trying to hide it behind a cough. Rowena stared at him quizzically, before shaking her head and returning to his wounds. Once she was content that the ravaged shoulder was as clean as she could make it without the aid of specific healing potions, Rowena brought her wand to bear on the lingering dark magic. Godric winced in discomfort at the intensity of the pricking sensation as the dark magic was expunged from his body. Finally, the witch finished by tearing more cloth from her robes and, pulling him against her in an act so brazen that both of them ended up reddening as she helped bind it around his torso.

'I did not know you were a healer?' Godric commented by her ear,

'I'm not,' Rowena admitted modestly, 'I certainly don't have Helga's talents, but being the only witch in my father's household was reason enough to learn all I could.'

'I'm grateful for it,' Godric told her, stretching his shoulder which to his relief was already feeling less strained. Rowena smiled at him warmly before returning to her work,

'There,' she eventually sighed in satisfaction as she tied the bandages in a tight knot so that they would not come loose, 'that should keep it free of infection until we can get you to a healer to see it. Who was the healer in Avalon?'

'Isolde,' Godric whispered back.

'Oh,' Rowena fell silent. She coloured again, but her embarrassment was lost upon Godric, who was quickly slipping back into the subdued countenance which had befallen him following the discovery of his uncle's death, 'I'm sorry.'

'Why?' Godric asked, looking at her strangely.

'For you,' she replied, 'for the losses you have suffered. For the pain you are feeling. If I had done more, been stronger or wiser, then maybe Avalon would have survived…'

'There was nothing more you could have done.'

'No,' Rowena argued, tears threatening to overwhelm her guilt-ridden gaze, 'I could have done more. But I was weak and scared and not good enough…'

'Stop,' Godric said more sharply than he had intended and putting an instant stop to her self-loathing, 'just stop arguing and listen.'

Rowena looked startled, but she obeyed his command without comment.

'What more could you have done?' he finally asked her quietly,

'I…I could have stayed with Lady Morwenna. I could have stood with Lambert and those poor men who died defending the keep. I could have fought harder or been braver…I could have been more like you…'

'What?' Godric spluttered incredulously, 'are you mad? Why in Merlin's name would you want to be more like me?'

'Can you really not see?' Rowena answered, generally shocked by the venom lacing his voice.

'See what?' Godric asked her bluntly, 'if you were like me then you would be dead and many innocent people would have died with you. If not for you Rowena, then many lives would have been ruined. Everyone who survived that fight owes you for that.'

Godric held up a hand, instantly interrupting any protests she may have tried to counter with.

'And why would you want to be like me? I swore an oath to defend Avalon and now only a smouldering ruins remain. I swore an oath to protect my people and many of them are dead. Worse of all, I swore an oath to give my life before Alain could be hurt and now he lies there in this very cave, murdered and mutilated. I was a fool; I thought that I had mastered both my magic and my sword and that belief led me to charge recklessly into a fight I could not win. Why would you want to be like me, when so many of us owe our lives to your quick thinking?'

'Yusuf told me to flee,' Rowena noted softly, closing her eyes in shame and trembling, 'you seem to have mistaken me for some ancient shield-maiden or a witch from legend. I am a coward. I wanted nothing more than to obey Yusuf and flee the fires and the blood and the screams of those Bellême had captured. He told me to follow my heart and do what I could, but that if the opportunity to flee came then I should take it. Looking back, I think he knew his time had come. He told me that my mind was a jewel, a jewel so rare that it would be a tragedy for the wizarding world to lose it needlessly. He told me that wit before measure was a man's greatest treasure…'

'That does sound like Yusuf,' Godric confessed, 'and he had a habit of being right about most things. He must have considered you to be a great student if he held you in such high esteem.'

'There's more to greatness than being intelligent,' Rowena remarked sombrely, 'loyalty, courage, and love…'

'All of which you have in abundance,' he said, frowning as he watched her face contort in disbelief, 'look, do you know how many people have faced Bellême and actually lived to do so again? Not many have and even fewer have lived beyond a single duel. Yet, here you are, still alive after you did what many powerful wizards could not. I've never felt fear like it when you challenged that bastard. There you stood, a witch unaccustomed to duelling, but who is still willing to confront one of the most dangerous fae-knights in Britain in a bid to sacrifice your life for the sake of others.'

'I was extremely fortunate,' Rowena pointed out, 'Bellême was toying with me, believing that the battle was won. If he'd been as brutal as we know he can be, then he would have killed me the moment he stepped into the hall…'

'Rowena, I've ridden to war and fought in battle,' Godric said honestly, 'and I have never seen courage like it.'

'Why do you do that?' Rowena suddenly asked him softly, her head tilted to the side as she regarded him with an odd expression.

'Do what?'

'Speak so earnestly when speaking about others,' Rowena replied, 'whilst saving no praise for yourself?'

Godric continued to stare at her blankly, remaining frozen even when he felt Rowena's hand slide into his own, their fingers interlocking.

'You speak of bravery,' she continued, 'but do not mention your own courage. I was forced to confront Bellême because if no one else did then we would have all been at his mercy. You _chose_ to challenge him. It was Godric Gryffindor who led your companions into battle and it was you who had the strength of heart to find your uncle's household a refuge, despite the whole world you had known burning around you. No one can call Godric Gryffindor a coward.'

'Stop,' Godric suddenly choked out and Rowena's eyes widened in surprise at his plea as Godric finally succumbed to the tears which he had tried so valiantly to hold back. They came in a flood from the depths of his soul which had rarely been delved before. Not since the death of his brother William had he wept so bitterly. All his grief rose in a nauseous wave and he was unable to rid his mind of the sight of those beloved friends who now lay dead. Godric closed his eyes, too ashamed and unable to look at Rowena as he raised his hands to hide his face and his body was wracked by sobs.

A pair of arms slowly wrapped themselves around him and jolted him from his misery. Godric felt Rowena's body being pressed against him and heard her soothing voice whispering in his ear, telling him to be strong in an effort to quench his tears and ease the fears which haunted him.

'Strength,' Godric spat miserably, 'everyone sees me as a pillar of strength.'

'Shush,' Rowena whispered, lifting her hands to stroke his face and wipe away his tears, 'even the strongest amongst us must weep. Merlin once said that only those who have given themselves completely to the dark arts are incapable of either grief, regret or love. He said that those emotions which come so naturally to humans, make us who we are. You have suffered a great loss, Godric. But it is not your fault. The blame for this lies in the hands of Lady Melusine and that devil Bellême.'

'I'll kill them,' Godric promised vehemently, burying his face in her shoulder as his tears stained her dishevelled robes further.

'I know,' Rowena whispered sadly, 'but not tonight. Tonight you need to rest and realise that you are a better man than you seldom believe.'

'I…I can't do it,' Godric stammered bitterly, 'it's all a lie. I'm no fae-knight. I'm weak. My father was right to call me a nithing… _OUCH_!'

A great crack echoed off the walls of the cavern. Godric stared in disbelief as Rowena slowly lowered her quivering hand, ignoring his swiftly reddening cheek.

'Never say that,' Rowena snapped sharply, her own unsettled emotions kindling her temper, 'never tell me you are worthless. It's wrong. You're better than that.'

'What would you know of it?' Godric snapped back, the rapidly returning pain from his discoloured face fuelling his own rage. He immediately regretted the outburst when his furious companion seemed to expand before him, struggling to restrain her own anger with him.

'I know more than you realise,' she hissed waspishly, 'you're not the only one who can see into the hearts of those they care for, especially when they wear it so brazenly. I know you, Godric, and right now you are not yourself.'

'Am I not?' Godric scoffed skeptically, 'Rowena, there are things that even you cannot hope to comprehend. There is more to me than the chivalric warrior you seem to think I am. There is a darkness within me which knows no compassion. It desires chaos and yearns to be set free so that it can wreak havoc upon the world. It exists only to kill and destroy and it takes over me every time I fight, overthrowing all reason. It is a rage that once caused me to beat Salazar bloody over some childish jibe and which has fuelled every killing blow I've struck. You are mistaken, Rowena. I am more like Bellême than this paladin you think I am…'

'But you still fight it,' the maiden bristled and pointed out stubbornly, 'so what if you have this darkness in you. We all have parts of ourselves that we detest. Salazar can be intolerant, Hamon foolish and Helga arrogant. Believe me, I know that I have my own flaws. Yet, you do not cower in self-pity. You fight and you win and you keep that part of you leashed. Wizards like Bellême let it reign rampant and revel in the anarchy which follows. Not you, Godric; I don't believe you would ever let such darkness rule your life.'

'I don't have your belief…'

Rowena slapped him again, harder. She glared at him so fiercely that one look into her heated gaze told Godric that in spirit she was his equal. Perhaps she even surpassed him.

'Oh, can you hear what you're saying,' the maiden exclaimed in anger and exasperation as she raised her hand to threaten him with a third slap, 'this is not the Godric I know. This is not the knight who has weathered the blows the world has thrown at him and still marches on unchecked, refusing to be cowed. The Godric Gryffindor I know has the heart of a lion…'

'Rowena…' Godric flinched, trying to interrupt her. She ignored him, the walls she had built to imprison her passion crumbling into dust.

'This is not the Godric Gryffindor who marched into my life and all but demanded to be a part of it. Where is the man I love?'

Breathing heavily, Rowena slowly fell silent and her eyes widened at the confession she had inadvertently revealed. Yet, despite all her misgivings and many sleepless nights, her heart had yearned to confess it. The grip she had on her companion's hand grew painful. Godric didn't notice. He simply gaped at Rowena, stunned into silence as her words washed over him and echoed in his mind.

Rowena looked away, spluttering and unable to bear the silence any longer. She attempted to withdraw, blushing more heatedly than she had ever done in her life and failing to conceal the hurt which ravaged her as his prolonged silence continued. She had not expected an immediate declaration of love to reciprocate her own, but she had not anticipated the agonising silence which left her flustered and uneasy. However, before she could escape and seek a place in solitude to wallow in her growing misery and embarrassment, Godric's spare hand shot out and grabbed her roughly by the arm. She gasped and continued to struggle until she finally grew still, realising the futility of wrestling with a man whose strength surpassed her own.

Slowly, she willed herself to meet his gaze. She found him looking at her questioningly,

'Love?' he asked her disbelievingly. Rowena was barely able to breathe as she silently cursed her foolishness. The witch was convinced she'd sensed more than just lust from Godric when he looked at her. After all, hadn't he been the one to venture to her chamber on the night the prophecy had possessed her. Rowena's rational mind was trying to persuade her that the only option left was to retire with as much dignity and pride as she could muster. Yet, her heart argued fiercely and soon gained the upper hand. She finally answered with a small nod of her head, trying to hide her face behind the long raven hair, but soon found herself unable to turn away from the intensity shining in his emerald gaze. Godric slowly exhaled as she lifted her hand and lightly touched the corner of his lips. Unnoticed by either of them, he raised his hand to envelop her own.

'Godric?' she whispered tentatively. They remained frozen in place for the most fleeting of moments, their hearts singing. Yet, it was not the courageous warrior was the first to act, but the raven haired maiden who listened to the feelings clamouring her heart and leaned forward to press a fleeting kiss against Godric's lips.

Rowena's lips hovered there for a moment, before pulling away slightly and giving Godric no opportunity to respond. She did not go far, reluctant to move far and looking stunned by her own daring.

'Godric,' she whispered breathlessly again, in a voice which sounded foreign to her own ears. She held her breath, fearing rejection and heartache, only for Godric to instantly dispel her fears as he tenderly lifted his hand to caress her cheek.

'Love,' he said disbelievingly as if unable to comprehend it. Yet, there was no doubt in his expression when he smiled at her. Rowena stared at him in surprise, equally amazed by his confession. However, regardless of her muddled emotions, she was still the brightest witch that Godric knew and he soon basked in her own radiant smile.

This time Godric acted and clumsily captured her lips in another innocent kiss. Rowena gasped, before responding fervently. She slid into his lap and managed to carefully avoid hitting his wounded shoulder. Godric pulled her closer as they parted briefly before she smiled again and claimed his lips again and Godric, never one to back away from a challenge, matched her passion.

Thrilling. Enthralling. There were a thousand ways to describe those first tentative moments. When they finally drew away, they were both breathless as they shared a secret smile which was half hidden in the flickering firelight.

Their next kiss was more heated, both desperate to demonstrate their love. Lips still joined, Rowena's her hands roved through his flaming hair as Godric passionately returned her kisses, revelling in the newly discovered intimacy they explored and the exuberant feelings it exacted. Barely a thought was given to the consequences of their actions as they relished the tempest which consumed them and dispersed all their caution. Neither were aware of Rowena pushing Godric onto his back and it was only when the witch huffed impatiently and began to free themselves from the restrictions of their torn robes did some semblance of sense breach their desire.

'Rowena,' Godric managed to blurt out between fervent kisses, 'you are still a maiden. If…if you do this…'

'I am my own woman,' Rowena gasped breathlessly as she broke their kiss and hovered over him. Godric was rendered speechless at the sight of her, his pulse quickening as a thirst to devour her overwhelmed him. Yet, it was her dark eyes which kept him spellbound, shining brightly in the dark. Tracing small circles upon his chest, she used her wand to summon a heavy cloak. Rowena smiled mischievously as she wrapped it around them, discarded her wand and bent down to kiss him again. Any protest Godric could muster was instantly suppressed and with his blood raging, his hands soon joined hers in discarding the rest of their clothes.

Love. For thousands of years, skalds and poets had spent thousands of years singing about love. They weaved tales of how love could conquer all sense, inspiring great and terrible deeds. Love is what all quest for but very few can ever truly understand. On that night, Godric and Rowena lay together and gave no thought to it, for no poet could hope to capture the reality of their love. This wasn't like the tales of love they had heard sung by bards, so they made their own song, one conjured for them alone. For amidst sorrow, loss, and death, two young lovers rediscovered life and gave their entwined souls to love.

To Godric, every searing kiss reinforced the world they had created; a place where only Rowena existed. He savoured every touch or gasp she made until each jubilant cry enticed his blood to greater passion. It was a thrill which surpassed any battle haze or conjured spell. No experience could compare to the sensations it provoked and Godric lost all control in their pursuit of it, for Godric and Rowena were lovers that night, and when they lay spent and exhausted, they remained in each other's arms as they fell into a deep sleep. There would be no great songs about the love they shared, for as long as their hearts soared with the memory of it, then their love would be forever immortalised.


	41. Forty: An Unforeseeable Future

**An Unforeseeable Future**

The faint glow of dawn breaking over the distant Welsh hills roused Godric from his slumber. Blinking groggily, the young knight remained frozen in place, his mind numbed by sleep and contentment. He was dimly aware of Rowena beside him, sleeping beneath a heavy cloak in the crook of his arm with her naked body pressed against his own, and her head resting against his uninjured shoulder. Sighing contently, Godric allowed his gaze to linger on his lover as he tried to memorise every detail of her face, from the way she slept with her lips slightly parted to the untroubled expression she maintained in her sleep. His hand gently stroked a length of dishevelled raven hair as his heart soared and his mind marvelled at the enormity of the love they had confessed to each other the previous night.

Godric's blissful ignorance did not last for long and soon the pain which plagued his bruised and battered body returned tenfold. He flinched at the sudden sensations which assaulted him, his discomfort unwittingly waking Rowena from her own slumber. The witch's shadowed eyes opened drowsily, blinking rapidly as the dim morning light assailed them. Rowena twitched in his arms, finally grasping the intimacy of their warm embrace and blushing furiously in response. The witch clearly remembered their exploits, for she bestowed a surprisingly coy smile on her lover.

'Good morning,' he murmured quietly, grinning like a fool. She chuckled at his infectious delight, before leaning up to kiss him softly.

'It is _very_ good,' she sighed, practically humming with satisfaction. She stretched but immediately winced as her own sore muscles protested. Godric chuckled, for, despite his wounded shoulder, his own abused body was flooded with a burning restlessness.

'How are you feeling?' he asked her attentively.

'I'm a little sore,' Rowena admitted mildly, waving away his instant concern, 'but I feel delightfully content. I'll be fine soon; Fiona used to tell me that the aches and pains which follow a woman's first time soon pass.'

The two lovers were silent for a while, staring at each other as they reminisced about the unbridled pleasures they had explored together. Godric yearned to experience it again and he responded to the feeling by pulling Rowena closer for a less chaste kiss.

'It is dawn,' Rowena gasped against his lips, reluctantly granting them a reprieve, 'and Salazar did not disturb us.'

'Thank Merlin he didn't,' Godric replied, tracing his lips over her soft skin, causing an uncontrollable shiver to run through Rowena at the touch.

'Godric,' she chastised him breathlessly, 'if it is dawn, then Lord Gofanon's followers cannot be far away. Do we have the time for this?'

'For this?' Godric chuckled eagerly, continuing his ardent discovering of the newfound freedoms she allowed until he enticed another gasp from his lover's lips, 'there will always be time.'

'What…what if Salazar…'

'Salazar gave us the whole night,' Godric concluded, confident that his friend knew exactly what was happening in the shadows and had remained at the cave's mouth to grant them time to pursue it, 'he will not begrudge us a little more time.'

'And your comrade?' she managed to inquire in between increasingly heated kisses. Godric glanced at Bayard's broken form, 'the potion might wear off at any time.'

'Still unconscious,'

'Then there is no time for delay,' Rowena declared fervently as the lovers flung themselves to the mercy of their most passionate urges, delighting in the pursuit of the intoxicating experiences they had clumsily discovered the night before. With a blundering and eager innocence, they made love again until they both became undone.

'I need this,' Godric confessed afterward as they rested in each other's arms, 'I need you. When we return to Black-Hollow, I am going to approach your father with an offer of marriage.'

'And if he says no?'

'Will he?'

'I'm not sure,' Rowena admitted, 'Avalon has been destroyed and the fabrics which tie Britain together are unravelling. I cannot predict what my father will do in an era where Avalon is gone and a member of the Wizengamot has been killed. However, you do still share Lord Alain's blood. That may persuade my father to consider your offer…'

'Can he look past the circumstances of my birth?' At Rowena's questioning look, Godric swiftly clarified, 'I am what some call a Mudblood.'

A frown creased Rowena's brow,

'But isn't Lord Alain your uncle?'

'He is…was,' Godric corrected himself, 'my mother shared a father with him, although I am the only one who shared his magical blood. My father was as far removed from magic as a man who detests it as the curse of the devil can be, for he saw it as a disease which must be purged before the devil's influence can corrupt the soul.'

Godric fell silent, noticing that Rowena appeared increasingly troubled.

'Is it a problem?' he inquired tentatively,

'No,' she reassured him quickly, cupping his face with a placating hand, 'never!'

'So you do not care that I'm a Mudblood?'

'Do not use that word,' Rowena told him sternly and Godric remembered the recent blows she'd struck him when he last aroused her displeasure.

'Why?'

'It is a grave insult…'

'It is only a name. I am what I am; there can be no changing that.'

'My fearless Gryffindor,' Rowena couldn't resist smiling fondly, 'we cannot change the status of your blood, nor do we want to. I swear that it will never come between us, nor will it douse the love I feel for you.'

'Then you will not protest if I go to your father?'

'I will not object,' Rowena assured him, although her smile was downcast, 'but I fear that it won't be as simple as we hope. I am a pureblood, descended from one of Merlin's pupils. The status of your birth will matter greatly to men like my father. It did not matter when your uncle still lived, but now he is dead and Avalon ruined, the wealth and influence my father once hoped to reclaim through our betrothal is lost. He may not be as eager to pursue the match.'

'But if he says yes?' Godric pressed, refusing to dwell on their fears.

'Then we will be happy,' Rowena promised, kissing him softly, 'and if he does not support us, then know that my heart will always belong to you, as yours will belong to me. I have read many deliberations on the matter of love and what we just experienced went beyond anything I've heard of. It would be a cruel fate to give us last night if we were meant to spend our lives apart.'

The lovers shared a final kiss, reinforcing their devotion to each other. Then they deemed it time to rise and face the hard day ahead. It took Rowena a few moments longer to gather her discarded robes, so after struggling into his filthy robes, Godric limped away to go in search of Salazar. He found his friend dozing at the cave's entrance, his wand resting idly by his hand. Godric couldn't blame him for sleeping, understanding that Salazar was just as exhausted as his companions. Besides, the enchantments they had placed at the cave's mouth proved strong enough to conceal them from any of the dangers which still prowled nearby.

Salazar blinked blearily when Godric nudged him awake. Taking a moment to regain his senses and stretch aching muscles, the young wizard couldn't resist smirking at his friend.

'You look a little better,' Salazar mused shrewdly.

'I feel it,'

'I'm sure you do,' Salazar agreed, his smile widening and his eyebrows wriggling suggestively, 'I'm sure even the dead could be persuaded to rise again after a _healing_ session like that.'

Godric's smile instantly vanished, looking mortified.

'You heard us?'

'Heard you?' Salazar exclaimed with a chuckle, 'I had to cast a charm to shield my innocent ears and even that offered little protection. Merlin, you were so loud if felt like you were fucking me!'

Godric's blush deepened and he silently prayed that Rowena would not hear them.

'There's no need to be embarrassed,' Salazar continued rather cheerily, 'it was a valiant performance for a novice, judging by the few howls your efforts provoked. I almost blushed at the scandal. It's a good thing there are wolves and trolls in these parts, or the locals may have grown suspicious…'

'Shut up,' Godric growled heatedly,

'Mind you,' Salazar pressed on with a wicked smile, ignoring Godric's plea for silence, 'there are improvements to be made. After all, when you are as skilled at lovemaking as I am…'

'Then Godric's ego may one day surpass yours, Salazar.'

Rowena emerged from the cave's gloom, frowning sternly at Salazar.

'Ah, the illustrious Shieldmaiden rises after her nightly exploits…'

'One more word on the subject, Salazar,' Rowena warned him sternly, 'and I'll hex you so badly that your manhood will shrivel to such proportions that all future conquests will come to believe that you're a woman masquerading as a man.'

Salazar began to laugh at her, but it died the moment it escaped his lips. Rowena's unamused expression reinforced her willingness to carry out her threat if Salazar continued to mock her lover. However, Godric recognised the flicker of mischief in her satisfied smile. She'd still hex his friend, but maybe not as severely as she had originally threatened. Nevertheless, Salazar didn't mention it again.

A croaked whimper echoed from the cave, alerting the three companions to an unsettled Bayard waking from his drug induced slumber. Distracted by his plight, Rowena went to soothe the wounded warrior's pain and tend to his hurts. When she was gone, Salazar looked at his friend evenly.

'I intend to declare a feud on Melusine!'

Godric remained silent. Salazar's declaration did not come as a shock to him. After all, he'd be a liar if he denied that the same longing for revenge had not burned in him. But that was before Rowena had confessed her love for him and now Godric's mind was at war with his heart.

'If you come with me,' Salazar continued cautiously, 'then you know that Rowena cannot follow. We both know it's true Godric. The recklessness which consumes you when Rowena is in danger could put us all in peril because you cannot think rationally when it comes to Rowena. You never have. If we declare a feud, then we'll need all our wits to hunt Melusine down.'

'Rowena is a gifted witch,' Godric defended his lover, 'she demonstrated enough of them in Avalon. Why not let her come?'

'I've never doubted that she has talent,' Salazar exclaimed, 'you were not the only one who witnessed her stand against Bellême. She did well but was very lucky to survive. Think with your brain rather than your heart. Not considering the effect it'll have on both your reputations if Rowena absconds with us before she is wed, she has had little training in the practice of war. You must have realised that there will be battles ahead if we go to thwart Melusine? Did you not see what she did to our friends? What she did to Alain?'

'Of course, I did,' Godric said stonily,

'They were some of the best warriors in Britain and Melusine still defeated them. She has dozens of supporters to call upon to aid her. Trust me, we'll have to wade through blood and spells before this all ends. If we're to survive it, then we'll need all your skill in battle.'

'But you are just as talented as I…'

'Stop,' Salazar suddenly snapped impatiently, startling Godric, 'for once in your life, will you desist with this misguided modesty and accept your gifts. You know that when it comes to fighting you surpass any other wizard our age. You're a dual-wielder for Merlin's sake. I'll be at your side Godric, never doubt that. But I'll be relying on your sword to keep me alive and if Rowena is there then you will never be able to do that…'

'She'll not like it,' Godric replied sourly, a wave of foreboding stirring within his breast at the thought.

'I fear that is a consequence you'll have to face,' Salazar sighed sympathetically, looking relieved that it was not his choice to make, 'I'm sorry Godric, but what other choice do we have. There is so much chaos and madness these days, but as Alain's last apprentice our honour demands that we avenge his death. Rowena can walk away from this. She isn't tied to the same fate we are and she doesn't have to face the trials we do, not the same horror and danger. Rowena can stay in Britain, protected by her father and his allies.'

'Bellême knows her,' Godric remarked quietly, voicing concerns which had plagued him since the battle for Avalon, 'Rowena challenged him and lived. Bellême shows little mercy to those who defy him. You heard what he said in Avalon; what he said he'd do to her. I…I can't let that happen, Sal. Not to Rowena…'

'If it was in your power then you wouldn't allow it to happen to anyone,' Salazar replied, 'you may be an idiot, but you're a chivalrous one. You'd throw yourself into harm's way without considering any of the risks involved if a friend's life was threatened. What's even more remarkable is that you would choose to do it again and again if you had too. But you're no Merlin. None of us are, for there are limits to our magic and we cannot save everyone. Don't let Rowena endanger her life when she doesn't understand the costs we face by choosing the more dangerous road.'

'How do you know she wouldn't understand?' Godric inquired, although his shoulders were already begun to slump in defeat, 'she is cleverer than you...'

'When it comes to scrolls and knowledge I agree with you,' Salazar replied, 'but she has none of the cunning needed to survive a duel against Melusine. Even we are ill-prepared for a feud against such a powerful witch. Intelligence will only get Rowena so far in a feud and if something happens to her it would break you. Then Melusine will escape and it will have all been for nothing.'

Godric closed his eyes and sighed. He wished he could argue with Salazar; wished he could shout and rant in an effort to persuade his friend that he was wrong. In Godric's eyes, it was Rowena's choice, including whether she wished to participate in their perilous quest. Who was Godric to deny her? A hypocrite may be, for Godric could not expel his fear of an encroaching danger which would far exceed anything they had ever challenged before. Besides, they had barely survived their last encounter with Melusine's followers.

Salazar was right. Godric could never be trusted to behave rationally if Rowena was in danger, nor would he be able to control his temper if she was hurt. If she was killed, then the young knight would fight on until he joined her in the afterlife.

'What are you two talking about?' Rowena's voice startled them from their internal reveries.

'Nothing,' Salazar lied smoothly,

'Honour,' Godric mumbled gravely. Rowena gazed at them suspiciously, realising that she had interrupted an important conversation. After making her friends suffer under her withering glare, Rowena decided to refrain from inquiring further. Godric was glad she didn't. He was a dreadful liar and hated betraying the witch's trust in him by lying. His subdued expression was evidence enough of the troubles plaguing him and which he suspected would only get worse.

'Fool!'

Godric tensed in the face of Gofanon's wrath. The old wizard was glaring at Salazar with a gaze which would make lesser men quiver. The younger man had confessed that he intended to declare a feud with Melusine, inciting Gofanon's anger. Salazar didn't flinch, staring back impassively.

'Maybe,' Salazar replied calmly, although his stance radiated defiance, 'but I will not change my mind. It was Melusine who started this, but I intend to finish it!'

'Bloody fool!' Gofanon snarled, unable to restrain his wrath before he was overcome by a violent coughing fit, his rasping breaths shaking his whole body. The bystanders watched on helplessly as Helga hurried to tend to her beloved guardian. They were increasing concerns regarding the mysterious illness which plagued the Welsh wizard, for it was taking longer for Gofanon to recover. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he was struggling to overthrow these frequent and exhausting outbursts which violently consumed him.

With Alain dead and the power of Avalon broken, magical Britain teetered on the brink of a troubling time. The Wizengamot would require a strong leader to guide it and confront the ambitions of opportunistic wizards like Bellême. If Gofanon's health worsened, then the Wizengamot would mirror the old wizard's weakened state, further fracturing an already factional Britain. Salazar had explained this to Godric and these fears were reflected in the faces of all who had gathered in Black-Hollow's hall.

Three days had passed since Godric had returned to Black-Hollow. Welsh reinforcements sent from Mynydd-y-ser and led by Rowena's father has soon reached them. Scatter-Brain had insisted on leading the search for his prized daughter and he stumbled in relief when he saw her alive and unharmed.

Scatter-Brain's countenance changed when he learned of the Lord of Avalon's fate. He shuddered at the sight of the corpses, before glancing at the nearby woods and becoming so nervous that it put all his companions on edge. When Scatter-Brain suggested abandoning the fallen for a swifter retreat, only Godric's strong hand on Salazar's shoulder stopped his friend from hexing the Scottish mage. Even Rowena looked appalled by her father's behaviour. Gone was the demure daughter Rowena had been, for she had discovered a new lust for life and intended to stay true to the promises she had sworn the previous night.

Rowena furiously berated her father, claiming that he would forsake all the honour of the Ravenclaw clan if he abandoned the corpses of brave men. Storming off to tend to a whimpering Bayard, Rowena left a stunned silence in her wake and Scatter-Brain hadn't said a word since. Only his eyes betrayed the anger he felt over his daughter's brazen rebuke, whilst he treated Godric with continued suspicion, for even a fool like Aidan Scatter-Brain would find it difficult to miss his daughter's proximity to Godric when she stood beside him, or Godric's perpetual awareness of where Rowena was.

Magic was a blessing when it came to moving the dead to Black-Hollow and by nightfall, the small band had reached Godric's lands. A surprised Siward met the haggard and corpse laden group at the manor's gate, before rousing the household to attend to the wounded Lord of Black-Hollow. The aged steward handled it all with an experience accumulated over many decades and after checking the wound on Godric's shoulder, he told the younger man to seek his bed.

Godric was the last to seek out a place of rest, for Rowena and Salazar had already retired and he was initially reluctant to abandon his duties, but after a thinly veiled threat that Siward would drag him from the hall, Godric shrewdly didn't protest. The young knight had enough time to lament over Rowena's absence before a wave of exhaustion flooded his aching body and he fell into the deepest sleep of his life.

Almost a full day passed before the young Lord of Black-Hollow rose from his bed again. He woke to find that the survivors of Avalon had arrived, for Siward had sent Adam with six retainers to find the refugees and guide them to Black-Hollow, guarding the weakened company against the threat from outlaws. The wary villagers watched on fearfully from the thresholds of their homes as the exhausted survivors trudged past with carts laden with the dead. Father Thomas quickly fanned the flames of rumour and prejudice, denouncing the new arrivals as the minions of the devil. According to the priest, they had been summoned by Godric to bring evil to Black-Hollow, where they would use the corpses they had collected for sinful rituals. Only a visit from Siward persuaded the dreadful man to desist.

Another day passed before Gofanon finally reached Black-Hollow, thunderously sweeping into Godric's hall with a grave expression and flanked by a few chosen kinsmen. He had sent the rest of his magical followers to bolster the ranks of the Muggle lords hunting down the surviving raiders who were fleeing across the Welsh hills. The wise wizard had returned to Mynydd-y-ser before setting out for Black-Hollow and bringing the healers of household with him. Helga came with them, for she was knowledgeable in the healing arts. She embraced her friends, forgoing her usual barbed tongue and replacing it with concern. However, her good humour was a refreshing change to the stifling gloom that had invaded Black-Hollow.

Black's absence did not surprise Godric. The young knight suspected that it was Black who had sold the secrets to bypassing the Ferryman to Melusine, although he lacked any evidence other than gut-feeling that stirred within him at the mere thought of the regal wizard. If Black had arrived at Godric's hall, then the young knight's honour and rage would have led to a confrontation. Godric was confident that he'd defeat Black in a duel, but his body still hurt terribly and his conflicted mind was ill-prepared for a fight.

Listening to Gofanon's battle with his own ill health, Godric turned to stare at Ella, who was standing silently behind Hamon's seat at the feasting table. The whore had received a message from Black and had been shrewdly avoiding Godric since they came to Black-Hollow, but the young knight was content not to pry until they had sought Gofanon's counsel.

'Fool,' the aged wizard spat again, breathing heavily as he recovered from the coughing fit and shooed Helga away. Helga returned to where Rowena and little Eleanor waited for her. Godric's sister beamed at the golden-haired witch, for Eleanor and Helga had been inseparable since the latter's arrival. Eleanor was overjoyed by the attention the older Helga gave her, whilst the witch instantly delighted in the young girl's company. Godric wasn't comforted by the budding friendship, unsure whether Helga's influence on Eleanor was a good thing.

In contrast, the bond between the two girls came as a relief to Rowena. Rowena may love him, but she struggled with the natural awkwardness which filled her when she was in the company of young children. She appeared lost and bemused by Eleanor's incessant pestering for attention; as if her bright and inquisitive mind could not comprehend the games and interests the younger girl indulged in. As Eleanor giddily began to play with a doting Helga's hair, Godric caught her sighing in relief when Eleanor's attention was diverted elsewhere. Rowena caught him watching her and they shared a smile before she glanced at her father to make sure that he hadn't seen the exchange.

Scatter-Brain had been keeping an unusually attentive eye on his daughter's whereabouts and so had insisted on attending the council. Efnysien and his father were also there, whilst Isobel, as Viviana's representative, had been invited to hear Gofanon's counsel. However, the Breton witch had shirked this duty as she battled with the grief which consumed her. Once Alain's funeral pyre had been lit, then the Enchantress would return to Brittany with her surviving retainers, taking her brother's corpse back to his native land.

'You think Alain would have wanted this,' Gofannon continued unchallenged, 'to see you throw away all your potential on a foolish errant quest.'

'I think Alain would have wanted me to trust my own heart,' Salazar replied coolly, 'and forge my own path.'

'What path?' Gofanon shot back, 'the road of blood and horror. I have seen what feuds can do; how they torture the soul and eat away at the men who fall under their spell. I have lived for over a hundred years and lost count of the number of great men and women whose lives were ruined by their thirst for revenge. It proved futile to outlaw the practice, but I will not allow your revenge tip Britain into chaos. I will not help you with this feud…'

'That is your decision, Lord,' Salazar replied, 'but what I decide does not concern you. Yet, I beseech you to remain vigilant. Alain was betrayed, for someone sold Avalon to Melusine. She would never have achieved her victory otherwise. You should be alert to the danger.'

'Our oaths are sacred,' Gofanon muttered, waving away Salazar's concerns, 'and they are not broken lightly, even by the greediest of men. I trust everyone who swore an oath on Ynys Mon…'

'Lord,' Salazar dared to impatiently interrupt the esteemed wizard, 'we no longer live in the old days of oaths and honour. Oaths are not seen as sacred to the new men who rise to power. The old codes you abided by belong to a different world which is coming to an end. The Wizengamot must change and act swiftly or wizards like Bellême will seek to exploit it.'

'We still have some power left,' Gofanon all but growled, shaking his head vigorously, 'the factions and families of Britain are ready to tear each other's throats out and our differences are becoming too great to ignore, breeding envy and hate where loyalty and honour once stood. Don't let your hatred ruin you, young Slytherin. There are better ways to serve Britain…'

'It is Bellême's grudge against Alain that has brought chaos to Britain,' Salazar replied, 'and Melusine's ambition. I will serve Britain more by defeating the She-Wolf before she can do more evil.'

'You're young,' Gofanon sighed, 'and the young never anticipate the consequences of their actions until it is too late. You cannot foresee the death and destruction your feud will bright, or how many lives will suffer before it is over?'

'I only intend for Melusine and her minions to die,'

'Ignorant fool,' Gofanon sighed in frustration. He rubbed a gnarled hand over his weary face, his heavy torques jingling loudly on thinning wrists. Then his gaze returned to Salazar, although it retained his earlier disapproval, 'you swear that it was Bellême who sacked Avalon?'

'Yes,' Hamon growled from his place at the feasting table, his head heavily bandaged. The Muggle knight had been subdued since learning of his father's death and his anger could not cope with anyone, even one of the most esteemed wizards in Britain, questioning the validity of their account of the battle. Gofanon glanced at him but did not reply.

'Do you doubt us, Lord?' Salazar asked surprisingly mildly, his eyes narrowing.

'No,' Gofanon sighed, 'I do not doubt you. Alain would never have lied to me and I do not believe he would have taught his apprentices to do so. However, others will doubt you; some may openly accuse you of lying.'

'Why?' Salazar demanded, 'we are knighted wizards and everyone knows what Bellême is capable of. Why would they not believe us?'

'Alain is dead and his influence will have died with him. Without it, many will say that you are too young, too arrogant…' Gofanon replied harshly, before glancing apologetically at Godric, 'and too impure of blood to be believed.'

Godric bristled at the implication and Rowena gasped incredulously. Salazar's eyes narrowed,

'Does it matter how pure our blood is? Melusine broke the laws of magical Britain. She should not go unpunished!'

'Blood always matters,' Gofanon remarked wisely, 'and Melusine will be punished. By her hand, a member of the Wizengamot is now dead. Melusine will be outlawed for her part in it.'

'Then you will let her get away,' Salazar hissed, 'Melusine will not linger if she believes the Wizengamot will act against her.'

'I will send a hawk to the Order of Merlin,' the aged wizard advised as he raised a placating hand, 'and ask them to outlaw her from the whole of Christendom. If Melusine is deemed a threat to the peace, then the Order will ensure that she has nowhere to hide. If the might of the Order is looking for her, then only the Children of Hilda will offer the She-Wolf sanctuary and Melusine is far too arrogant to ever seek the aid of those savages. Let them deal with her, for I fear that if you bring a complaint to the Wizengamot against Melusine and her hound Bellême, then no one will hear it.'

'I thought all injustices could be heard at the Wizengamot?' Salazar said coldly,

'Only if a member of the Wizengamot will speak for you,' Gofanon pointed out, 'you have no such patron. Alain's seat lies empty and Vivian is too preoccupied with troubles in Brittany to aid you. Longbottom and Black will not speak for you and Cinead is too weak. The last of us is the very wizard you accuse of sacking Avalon. There is no one to speak for you.'

'And you will not, Lord?' Salazar asked quietly, although his grasp of politics ensured that he already knew the answer.

'I cannot,' Gofanon replied, looking as if all his years in this world weighed upon his shoulders, 'I am the head of the Council and my voice must remain impartial. I cannot bring an accusation against Bellême.'

'Cannot?' Salazar hissed, 'or won't?'

There was an intake of breath from those watching the bitter exchange. Scatter-Brain and Gofanon's welsh followers spluttered in indignation, Rowena gasped and Helga scowled at her friend. Even Godric was surprised by Salazar's courage, for it was no small feat to challenge an esteemed wizard like Gofanon the Wise and Salazar had always respected wizards of pure blood and high standing.

'Do not insult me with your insolence, _boy_!' Gofanon growled dangerously, his pale eyes flashing, 'I understand you're angry. You do not reach my age without losing loved ones. You've allowed it to cloud your judgment. There is more at stake here than the fate of Avalon. No one has dared to openly seek the death of a member of the Wizengamot for a hundred years. If the factions of Britain turn their wands on each other, then they could throw the land into a turmoil we have not seen since the Harrying.'

'It already is in turmoil,' Salazar cried in exasperation, 'Avalon is gone, its ancient power broken. Why do you think Trian of Tara died so unexpectedly? How long do you think your peace will last without Alain's wand to uphold it?'

'Silence,' Gofanon suddenly roared, lurching to his feet in a fury, 'learn to hold that silver-tongue of yours, Slytherin, or you will lose more than your pride. Britain does not rely on one man to fight for it. Wizards do not have kings and royal sovereignty does not extend to the Wizengamot. Some wizards like Alain choose to rule Muggle lands and thus, must do homage to the King of that realm. However, their loyalty to the magical world will always come before their willingness to bend a knee to a monarch. Alain was a trusted friend and I will grieve for him more than many others. Yet, there was peace before Alain came to Avalon and there will be peace now he is dead.'

'So you will do nothing?' Salazar protested, 'you will not curb Bellême's thirst for power?'

'Darker wizards than Bellême have tried to overthrow the Wizengamot and failed,' Gofanon scoffed, 'I do not fear Bellême.'

'Then you risk death and anarchy,' Salazar shot back fiercely, 'he's the most dangerous man in Britain and you still refuse to see him as the wolf he is.'

'Only Melusine threatens to throw Britain into chaos,' said the Welshman, 'Bellême was the sword she wielded. Our friend Sir Robert is new to the Wizengamot and he will soon learn that there are more responsibilities to a seat of power than he first foresaw. Besides, he abandoned Curthose when he answered Melusine's call and he will suffer his King's wrath for the desertion. It is probably why he cowers in his father's castle…'

'Bellême is in Shrewsbury?' Salazar said suspiciously, 'how do you know where he is?'

'A hawk waited for me on my return to Mynydd-y-ser,' Gofanon said coldly, 'and it bore Bellême's family seal. I imagine he sent a hawk to all the members of the Wizengamot in his bid for forgiveness. He claimed that Melusine had bewitched him and that his actions against Alain was driven by her evil spells rather than any desire in his own heart. He swore on his honour as a fae-knight that he did not want to see Alain dead and offered to pay a huge fine for his medals.'

'LIES!' Salazar suddenly snapped, appalled by Bellême's flagrant deceit. Hamon's expression darkened considerably and Godric felt so angry that he rammed his eating knife into the trestle, causing Eleanor to quail in fear at her brother's sudden bout of rage.

'Of course, he lied,' Gofanon noted, 'but others will be eager to support him and he has both the gold and the influence to sway them to his cause. Bellême can play the courtier when he wants. Yet, he offered a gift to those who still oppose him as an example of his sincerity and it concerns Melusine. Bellême claimed that the She-Wolf has fled north with Thorvald Ragnarsson and the few followers who have not forsaken her after she defiled Alain's corpse. Melusine hopes to find a ship to Iceland out of fear of reprisals…'

'Melusine does not fear us,' Salazar snorted disbelievingly, 'she would not flee because of our feud. There must be a reason for her to suddenly leave Britain.'

'She has already suffered the humiliation of exile once,' Gofanon remarked, 'and even when she had youth and beauty to aid her, she still barely survived it. Now, she is old and has to resort to enchantments to maintain her beauty. I doubt she will survive exile again.'

Salazar laughed humourlessly at the old wizard's assertion.

'Lord, I disagree,' Salazar stated assuredly, 'despite being born a woman, Melusine has proven to be more wretched and ruthless than the Wizengamot is willing to believe. This willingness to be blinded by her bloodline and refusal to believe the threat she poses cost Alain his life. Do not underestimate her again. If she has gone on a quest for the Cauldron of Rebirth as Alain believed, then we are all in peril.'

'The Cauldron?' Gofanon inquired with a frown,

'I believe that Melusine didn't attack Avalon because of some misguided familial claim to a seat of power,' Salazar explained, 'she severed ties with that place the moment her wand murdered her father and she was banished from Avalon by her mother. She wants the Cauldron.'

'I'd heard rumours that she desired to find it,' Gofanon murmured, 'I warned Alain about the Cauldron once. He laughed it off, claiming that it was lost years ago…'

'It was lost, Lord,' Salazar said, 'but Melusine has been seduced by the tales of its power. It is said that the Cauldron of Rebirth can safeguard mortals against death and her need to find it becomes greater with every passing year. Avalon could burn for all Melusine cared as long as she learned the secrets of its whereabouts. Now she has a scroll which might lead her there, stolen from the works of Yusuf-al-Qurtubi. If Melusine unlocks its power, then our deaths will be terrible.'

Gofanon the Wise looked deeply troubled by Salazar's news. The Welshman was a wizard who had always put his trust in men and wands rather than ancient relics mentioned in songs and the tales spun by old women beside a hearth fire on dark winter nights.

'No one can be sure that the Cauldron even existed,' the old wizard mused, sounding like a man who had forsaken his wisdom in an attempt to persuade himself that the threat they faced was not as grievous as the grim tiding suggested, 'nothing can safeguard against death.'

'There have been necromancers before,' Salazar pointed out, 'and dark wizards who have tried to unlock the secrets to immortality. Who here can claim to know everything about magic?'

'True,' Gofanon acknowledged, 'but the Cauldron…it is the dream of fools to find such a treasure. Our focus should be on the fate of Britain, not straying towards long lost trinkets. Besides, Bellême made no mention of it…'

'Bellême has no honour,' Salazar chuckled darkly, 'what kind of a wizard willingly betrays his master? You will still let the vile wretch go free?'

'The fine we'll demand because of his part the sack of Avalon will be huge and I will see to it that William of England knows who had a hand in his Grand-Sorcerer's death.'

'Royal disapproval and inconsequential fines will not stop him,' Salazar warned, 'Bellême's family are amongst the wealthiest and most powerful of Rufus's magnates. Moreover, with Melusine outlawed, he will assume the vacant place at the head of a faction which becomes stronger with every passing week. You will only be making him more powerful.'

Salazar shook his head, his voice was laced with a grudging respect for how deftly Bellême had manipulated the wizards of Britain. Bellême was too ambitious to share power with a rival, so he had betrayed Melusine to the Wizengamot, enabling him to escape exile and in the same throw of the dice further secured his own power. Alain's dying words had been right and Melusine would be furious when she discovered that her most loyal supporter had deserted her cause.

'He is the Sacker of Avalon,' Salazar continued, eying Gofanon almost pityingly as his heart hardened against Gofanon's protests, 'and such a reputation will draw more followers to his banner, lured by promises of wealth and bloodshed. He offers reassurances of friendship and loyalty now, but tomorrow is another day and Bellême's influence is only growing. He may turn his power against you.'

Gofanon finally raised his hand to silence Salazar. The aged wizard had heard enough and he was growing tired of being harangued by a young, impudent Salazar.

'You have voiced a compelling argument,' the Welshman acknowledged, before turning his weary gaze on Godric, 'I may think you a fool for committing to a feud rather than choosing peace, but I agree that a watchful eye will have to be kept on Sir Robert of Bellême. Yet, our gracious host remains silent. Speak Godric Gryffindor; will you indulge in your friend's folly or will you remain in Britain to ensure that everything Alain built does not crumble into ruin?'

Every gaze turned to stare at Godric. The Lord of Black-Hollow had stayed silent whilst Salazar declared his feud with Melusine. Stepping forward into the heart of his hall, Godric tried to make sense of the turmoil which had afflicted him Avalon had fallen. But Godric could no longer ignore the choice forced upon him and the time had come to choose which road he would take.

Avalon was ruined, many of those he loved were dead and the need to avenge this hurt by killing the witch responsible had burned in him since he first glimpsed the clouds of dark smoke rising above the white castle. Melusine's desire to use the Cauldron of Rebirth for ill also fuelled his resolve to join Salazar in his quest, for no gallant knight could honourably let his sworn-brother journey along such a dangerous road alone. If the legends of the Cauldron's power were true, then Melusine could devastate the world she believed had scorned her.

Godric glanced at his raven-haired lover. Rowena Ravenclaw, a witch who owned his heart and whose love was a source of light and comfort in the darkness which clouded his life. Rowena was staring at him expectantly, hope shining in her dark eyes as a small smile broke across her face. From the most powerful witch to the fairest noblewoman, Godric knew that no one would ever be her equal in his eyes. She had confessed her desires to him and had chosen to trust him with the knowledge of her most entrenched fears and crippling vulnerabilities. Similarly, Rowena had witnessed the darkest and most violent aspects of his soul and still, she had resolved to brazenly declare in both body and spirit that she loved him and believed that their lives would be forever entwined.

Godric could see all this in the soft smile Rowena bestowed upon him. He could see it even as the smile began to slip away as his silence continued and it dawned on her that he was hardening his resolve and summoning the courage to break her heart.

'I will go with Salazar,' Godric finally confessed. Cursing himself for a coward, Godric turned away from Rowena so that he would not have to see the aftermath of his choice. However, his traitorous ears still heard the choked gasp which escaped Rowena. His eyes returned to his lover, searching beseechingly for her gaze to meet his own, but found Rowena staring at her feet, her unbridled hair hiding her downcast expression as she refused to look at him. Godric couldn't blame her. Honour had come before love and Ella's forecast had come true. The young knight glanced at the erstwhile whore and found her watching him with surprising pity from her place beside Hamon.

'I will not let my uncle's death go unavenged,' Godric continued harshly as he faced a displeased Gofanon and went to stand beside Salazar, who couldn't hide his relief at Godric's decision. It was obvious by Helga's scowl that the young witch disapproved, whilst Hamon's expression was barely decipherable as the Muggle masked his own thoughts, 'Salazar and I must do this, for only magic can stop Melusine now.'

'Has the world gone mad,' Gofanon lamented wearily, his face pale and sickly. But he said no more on the matter, for another severe coughing fit struck him and rendered him speechless and exhausted. Godric generously offered his own chamber for the wise wizard to use and Gofanon accepted it without a word, allowing Helga to aid his retreat to find rest.

When Godric looked back at his companions, he discovered that Rowena had already disappeared. However, she neither wept nor fled the hall in rage. Instead, she left the hall with as much grace as her wounded heart could muster, the loyal servant Kenna shadowing her. Hamon's brow was furrowed, already sensing that this was a quest that he could not participate in. The Muggle knight stormed away from the hall without saying a word to his friends. Ella followed him and Godric hoped that the red-head would be able to coax his friend from his anger. Only then would Godric confront the whore about his suspicions of Black and the treachery which had ruined Avalon.

Salazar clearly wished to speak to him, but Godric had a more pressing matter to attend to. There would be enough time to plan their feud later and a single glance at Siward prompted the steward to lead Salazar away so that Godric had his chance to speak with Aidan Scatter-Brain, who tried to scurry from the hall unseen.

When Godric called out to him, Scatter-Brain was forced to come to an abrupt halt. The two men faced each other in silence and to Godric's dismay, he sensed that the Scottish mage was sizing him up like a wizard who looked upon an opponent on the eve of a duel. Scatter-Brain could not mask his distaste for the coming conversation and Godric decided that he would forsake the riddles and pleasantries which traditionally dogged betrothal pacts for a more honest approach.

'We both know why we're here, Lord.'

'Do we?' Scatter-Brain sniffed, scowling and feigning ignorance. Godric felt the urge to throttle him, before chastising himself for his own ill temper and impatience.

'I want to marry Rowena,' the young knight stated bluntly, 'and I think she will be content with the match. Morwenna taught me that it is magical tradition to seek the out the favour of the witch's father…'

'No!'

Godric's body tensed. Scatter-Brain's voice was cold and his gaze defiant, a huge contrast to the affable behaviour he used to exhibit whenever the two men had previously met.

'Will you give me a reason as to why you refuse me so callously?' Godric asked surprisingly mildly, hiding the grief and rage which warred within him, 'before his death, Alain told me that you had approached him with a betrothal offer. If this is true, then why deny?'

'My counsel is my own,' Aidan snapped petulantly, infuriating Godric to such an extent that he felt a flutter of sympathy for the Seidr of the Western Isles, 'you have no right to demand a reason if I offer none.'

'Lord,' Godric replied, desperately attempting to change tact in the hope that it would avoid the quarrel his rising temper would welcome, 'I love your daughter. She is brilliant and has a spirit which is unrivalled by any woman I have met. She is an extraordinary witch and I will treasure her for the rest of my life if you permit the betrothal to go ahead.'

'What life?' Aidan countered sourly, 'you're committed to this feud against Melusine; this foolish quest against a witch you have no chance of defeating. I may as well betroth Rowena to a corpse; better that than pledging her to a madman.'

'I love her…'

'Which is why you will not come near her again,' Aidan suddenly interrupted him with a growl, 'you have corrupted my daughter enough. She was once a good, obedient girl; as demure a daughter as a man could wish for. Now, she is so brazen that she defies her own father's will. Only you could have inspired such an unwanted change. You have sullied both her body and her name. Do not think that I have not seen the way she looks at you; the way she reacted when you declared your intentions to follow Slytherin on your little adventure. Rowena has become besotted with the gallant knight everyone sees you as and you have exploited it for your own gain, diminishing her status further. What lies have you fed her? I swear that I will not allow it to continue. A daughter of the Ravenclaw clan will not marry a landless wizard.'

'Landless?' Godric hissed incredulously, anger seeping through his steadfast resolve, 'you're standing in my hall!'

'This?' Scatter-Brain guffawed, gesturing wildly at his surroundings, 'you really think this mud-strewn Muggle hovel is suitable for a Ravenclaw to rule? I have tried to overlook the circumstances of your birth and not many wizards would turn a blind eye to your baseborn heritage. You were a blood relation of the Lord of Avalon and he has taken his influence and wealth with him to the grave. With no inheritance, you're just a Mud-blood with barely any gold to your name… _how dare you_!'

Scatter-Brain spluttered in astonishment and indignation as a strong hand suddenly shot out and grasped hold of the folds of the woollen cloak at his neck, robbing him of speech. Godric slowly moved closer, his grip tightening when Scatter-brain tried to wriggle free. The Scot was paling rapidly as Godric glowered heatedly and tried to wrestle control back from the fury swelling his heart. He saw fear in Scatter-Brain's eyes and revelled in it before reason managed to sally forth and retake his mind to douse his anger. If he struck Scatter-Brain, then what little hope he still had of marrying Rowena would evaporate the moment the blow landed.

'You worthless…' Godric started, fell suddenly silent and then thrust Scatter-brain away from him. The Scottish mage squealed and stumbled into one of the old wooden columns with a bruising thud. He never took his eyes off Godric, terrified that Godric would threaten him again. But when the young knight remained frozen in place, Aidan straightened and tried to smooth the creases in his dishevelled tunic whilst attempting to salvage what little pride his quivering body could still muster.

'My answer remains unchanged,' Aidan said haughtily, 'I will never grant my favour to a match between you and my daughter. I also withdraw the hand of friendship I've offered you. You have physically threatened me and as head of the Ravenclaw clan, I cannot forgive such an insult. Alain was a good man and we will stay for his funeral feast out of respect for him, but my household will not linger here a day beyond that. Heed this warning Gryffindor, if I see you near my daughter again then I'll…'

Godric glared so fiercely at Rowena's father that the older man stumbled upon his own words, realising his folly and deeming it wiser to leave the hall with the threat left unsaid. Godric was in no mood to appease the bastard and blows would be struck if the Scottish mage had loitered.

The Lord of Black-Hollow stormed away from his hall, speaking to no one as he sought refuge in his mother's meadow. However, Godric took no solace from the tranquillity which had never failed to soothe Lady Aly's flayed emotions. Instead, he unleashed a flood of profanities as he vented the rage which had threatened to rip Aidan Scatter-Brain apart, startling a nearby red-breasted robin, although the little bird did not flee from the nuts and berries which the meadow provided in abundance.

Godric paid no attention to his chirping companion. He needed to see Rowena. He needed to explain the reasoning behind his choice, for Godric would not be able to leave Britain knowing that the tension and strife which clouded his feelings for Rowena remained unresolved. This would be no easy feat. Her father would never allow it and the austere Kenna had dogged the witch's shadow ever since the survivors of the attack on Avalon had reached Back-Hollow, effectively ending any chance for the lovers to find a moment for intimacy and leaving Godric to dwell on his troubled thoughts alone.

The fluttering of wings as the robin suddenly sprang into flight and broke through the overhanging greenery around him alerted Godric to the presence of an intruder. His heart plummeted when he discovered Helga watching him silently. The young witch had her arms crossed and the glare she levelled Godric hinted at her displeasure with him.

'I thought I told you,' she finally broke the strained silence, 'that I'd curse you if you ever hurt Rowena.'

'Do you intend to go through with your promise?'

'Don't think that I couldn't,' she replied haughtily, 'you have hurt my friend, and I'm very loyal to my friends. It may also knock some much-needed sense into that witless skull of yours.'

'You are loyal,' Godric agreed, for no one could ever claim that Helga Hufflepuff was disloyal, 'but I thought I was your friend as well?'

'You still have it if you tell me why you did it?' she remarked, 'explain why you are forsaking Rowena for this quest?'

'Salazar will die if he goes alone,' Godric explained in a feeble attempt to justify his decision, 'I cannot let him suffer such a fate. Honour also demands that I join him. Alain's death and the fall of Avalon demands a retaliation.'

'So honour is worth more to you than my friend's love?'

'Never doubt my love for Rowena,' Godric sighed miserably, 'this decision has haunted me more than any that I've forced to make. Despite what I feel for Rowena, I know that if I forsook Salazar and allowed him to go on this journey alone, then I would know no peace. Rowena is a brilliant witch, but the dishonour of abandoning my sworn-brother and allowing Melusine to unleash the magic of the Cauldron would eat away at my soul until only resentment and regret remained.'

'I have heard the bards sing of love,' Helga continued stubbornly, 'abandoning Rowena does not seem like love to me.'

'At least she'll be safe,' Godric said, 'Rowena's life has already been put at risk because of me. If she came with us then she will die. Merlin, Salazar and I could be walking to our own doom. Do you think I'm selfish for wanting to protect Rowena from harm? For us, killing Melusine is a matter of honour. Rowena is not burdened by the same duty which commits me to the feud.'

'I'm sorry that this choice has been forced on you,' Helga finally sighed, her gaze finally softening before she turned to watch Gervais's surviving horses graze nearby, 'my great-grandfather will alert the Order of Melusine's crime. Why not let Rhodri and his brethren deal with Melusine's threat?'

'Would your brother rest if it was Mynydd-y-ser which was sacked and his family slaughtered?'

'No,' Helga smiled ruefully, 'my brother is the mightiest man I know. He'd not rest until those responsible were dead. Rhodri would never forsake those he loves, nor would he discard his honour carelessly. It is a trait you both share…insufferable nobility.'

Godric didn't reply. He certainly didn't feel very noble, the image of Rowena's expression as he broke her heart flashing through his mind.

'How is she?' he asked Helga tentatively.

'Why don't you ask me yourself?'

To Godric's shock, Rowena stepped out from her hiding place behind the majestic oak tree at the meadow's heart. They stared at each other and Godric hated how cold and distant she appeared as if she was devoid of sentiment and far removed from the spirited witch he had come to love as she had ever been. It was a stark contrast to the liberated and carefree witch who had woken up in his arms several days earlier, for there was no hint of the fiery spirit he had come to love in Rowena's pale and icy expression. Nevertheless, her hostility did not stop Godric from going to her. She held her ground unflinchingly, glaring sharply at the lover who had seemingly jilted her.

'I'm furious with you!'

'I know,'

'I should never speak to you again,'

'I know,' he repeated, still moving closer without breaking their locked gaze.

'You'd deserve it.'

'I would,' he agreed softly as he finally reached her. She bent her head to look up at him, her dark eyes unable to mask the accusation glistening there as she searched his own. A single tear began its descent down her cheek and Godric lifted his hand to gently brush it away, despising the knowledge that he was the cause of it. Rowena's eyes momentarily fluttered close at the touch, unable to resist shifting her face into the tender caress.

'I should hate you,' she murmured against his hand, nuzzling his palm as she tried desperately to hold back the growing urge to weep and scream at him.

'You'd have every right to hate me,' he conceded. She nodded, feeling validated for the anger which still burned within her. She had promised herself that she would bitterly harangue Godric, but when the moment came all she could do was sigh sadly and kiss his palm.

'Did you speak to my father?'

Godric nodded grimly but said no more. He didn't have to, for it was clear from his strained silence that his tidings were grave.

'I thought as much,' Rowena whispered mournfully, 'my father is…he's a stubborn man. I can't see him changing his mind, not when it comes to his bride-cow.'

'It won't stop me,' Godric reassured her quietly, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head against hers, 'even if I have to gain a reputation to rival Merlin's to persuade your father to accept the match, then I'll do it. I won't rest until we're together.'

'No wizard can match Merlin, but I think a quest to stop an evil witch from using an ancient relic to kill us all will suffice,' Rowena chuckled against his chest, her spirits rising slightly, 'I'll be glad when you've returned. Just promise me you won't die on this adventure?'

'With my wand by his side,' Salazar smiled as walked into the cool meadow, a subdued Hamon following close behind, 'what is there to fear?'

'Besides your glaring ineptitudes?' Helga smiled sweetly, 'only disembowelment, decapitation and death from being eaten by Merpeople.'

'Eaten by Merpeople?' Hamon snorted in amusement, breaking out of his subdued reverie as he leaned back with crossed arms against the great oak.

'I'm scared of Merpeople' Helga shrugged helpfully, shuddering at the thought of the magical creature, 'I also can't swim, which does not help my fear.'

'Don't be absurd,' Salazar retorted, 'unless you're skilled in the art of divination like Rowena, how could you possibly know? Or do you secretly pray for our deaths?'

'Only yours,' Helga countered, her smile widening as her baiting provoked a scowl from the young wizard and a chuckle from Hamon.

'Will you two stop it?' Rowena chastised them sternly, intervening before their bickering could escalate into an argument, 'I'm not in the mood to listen to this.'

'Why?' Hamon smirked, 'were we interrupting something?'

Rowena sent the Muggle a withering glance, but couldn't hide the blush which crept into her cheeks.

'Rowena's right,' Godric said, reddening as he put a supportive arm around his lover's shoulders, 'there's enough conflict in the world without you two fighting!'

'Says the man who can't live without a sword in his hand,' Hamon commented lightly and Godric grimaced, remembering the thrill which consumed him in battle.

'It may prove a good thing,' said Rowena, 'I'll sleep more peacefully knowing Godric has a sword with him whilst he's on this quest.'

'You're not alone,' Salazar admitted, 'but I fear that the dark times have already arrived. The wizards of Britain are mustering the strength to tear each other apart…'

'Magical Britain will not descend into chaos,' Helga said, once again demonstrating her unwaveringly familial loyalty, 'my great-grandfather would never permit it.'

'Lord Gofanon is old,' Salazar replied, rolling his eyes and hinting at the bitter resentment he had revealed during their confrontation with the aged wizard, 'he may still be the head of the Wizengamot and powerfully magical. But even Gofanon the Wise might not be able to stop a war from breaking out.'

'He knows that,' Helga spluttered with a scowl, 'which is why he is so frustrated with your feud. Once you leave Britain, my great-grandfather will lose two valuable allies. Salazar, some of the fools you don't know seem to think that you're clever and Godric's prowess in battle is now well known in some circles. Both reputations could help his cause.'

'We'll return,' Godric reassured his companions lightly.

'With Melusine's head,' Salazar nodded firmly.

'Then what of Bellême?' Hamon interrupted them. Melusine, the architect of Alain's fall, may be fleeing from Britain, but her greatest weapon would be remaining in Britain to try and bolster his familial strongholds and influence.

'Cut off the hydra's head and more will still appear,' Rowena said, 'our world must change if we are to be free of warring factions and ambitious wizards.

'Bellême will still need to be dealt with,' Salazar said firmly, 'either by magic or the sword, we'll defeat him.'

'He may seek revenge against us,' Godric said, voicing his own anxieties now that it was decided that Rowena would stay in Britain, 'for he lost many men in the battle for Avalon. Fortunately, Black-Hollow is a safe place, at least for now. Alain erected wards around the manor which should deter anyone who meant Black-Hollow harm, wards which Gofanon has promised to strengthen them before he departs. Hamon will rule this land in my absence and Black-Hollow will stand as a refuge for any wizard willing to fight against wizards like Melusine and Bellême.'

'Our families have enough strength to protect us,' Helga smiled, for Godric had looked at both witches when he addressed his companions, 'and the hills of our homelands will hide us from any Norman wizard who dares bring war against us.'

'Robert of Bellême is a terrible man,' Rowena continued with a small smile at her friend's confidence, 'but Salazar is right to question the danger he poses to the peace. Evil like this should not be allowed to corrupt our world.'

'For too long we have let petty rivalries govern us,' Salazar stated passionately, 'letting evil men prosper whilst the best of us fall. Britain must change if we are to see an end to wizards like Bellême.'

'Then it will be up to us to change it,' Godric growled and Helga laughed and whooped in support.

'I once overheard my great-grandfather telling Lord Alain the very same,' Helga revealed as she at her friends, 'whilst we were on Ynys Mon, he told the Lord of Avalon that we were the future of Britain.'

'It's true,' Salazar smirked ruefully, 'although he probably didn't mean Helga.'

'If we are the future,' Godric said, ignoring Salazar's jibe as Helga threw a stone at his friend, 'then it will be our responsibility to fight for it.'

'And once all the fighting is done,' Rowena said, smiling wistfully at Godric as her long fingers wrapped themselves around his own, 'we will heal old wounds by helping Britain to move past the differences which have repeatedly divided us.'

'That is a mighty task,' Salazar said, so impressed with the witch's perceptiveness that he was staring at Rowena in admiration, 'sometimes I struggle to believe that such a dream can ever be achieved.'

'Why?' Hamon spoke up, 'when friends like us stand together, then surely nothing is impossible?'

They all smiled at that. Hamon spoke of a loyalty and hope which blossomed within all their hearts like a beacon blazing in the darkest of nights. Godric felt Rowena squeeze his hand and he instinctively lifted it to his lips and kissed the fingers which were entwined with his own. He wisely ignored Helga as the young witch mimicked vomiting and prompted sniggers from his friends. They would mock him ruthlessly for such a display of affection, but Godric did not care.

Salazar was the first to speak, scrutinising Hamon with suspicion,

'How long did it take you to think of that?'

'I'm no bard,' Hamon shrugged with a sheepish smile, 'far longer than it ever should have.' His friends chuckled at his self-deprecating mockery. Yet, their laughter didn't undermine the truth behind the Muggle's declaration. The Britain they had known was gone, lost in the fires which had consumed Avalon as the land teetered towards a war and great divisions threatened it with chaos. Surrounded by friends he had grown to trust with his life, Godric could finally believe that better days lay ahead, shrouded in the veiling mists of time. Godric smiled, for once believing that Alain's dreams of peace and unity in Britain did not seem so hopeless.


	42. Forty-One: Ashes and Dust

**Ashes and Dust**

The moon shone on its high throne, surrounded by its glittering courtiers as a funeral pyre blazed brightly in the night. Shrouded figures encircled the fire, whilst the torchbearers placed their fiery brands into the tower of wood and thatch to feed the tempest. The great pyre had been erected just beyond Black-Hallows meadows, close to the spot beside the tiltyard where the Lord of Black-Hollow had demonstrated his magical abilities

The funeral pyre was an ancient custom from a bygone pagan world, where the souls of the dead would be freed from their mortal bodies and sent upon the road to the afterlife. The Church condemned these burial practices as heretical and even now the Christians in the village cowered in their homesteads and prayed to their God to protect them from the mischief of the pagans gathered around the strange, blazing fires. Godric didn't care for their misguided perceptions, for that was a problem which could be rectified another time. Tonight belonged to the Lord of Avalon and Godric would not deny Alain his wish to be placed upon a pyre and burned.

The last Lord of Avalon lay with his cold hands clasped about both his sword and wand. Morwenna lay beside her beloved husband, as serene in death as she had been in life. Their bodies had been prepared by the surviving servants who had loved them dearly. Garbed in simple gowns, they had been born upon shields emblazoned with the crest of Avalon and taken by the knights of Avalon and Black-Hollow to the pyre which awaited them. A procession of men and women followed them, including a tearful Bayard, whose broken body was carried on a litter by Gervais and Adam. Then as the torches were thrown into the pyre, Godric and his friends watched on in silence as the night's warm breeze whipped the flames into a frenzy which swiftly engulfed Alain and Morwenna's bodies.

The grief ridden silence did not linger, for a clear voice soon rose above the crackling fire to break it. Godric immediately recognised Rowena's enchanting voice as it sang the same song he'd heard her sing when she danced in Avalon's sun-kissed glades. He remembered the mournful tune as it told the tale of a great love both won and lost. Godric felt tears sting his eyes when he found Rowena watching him as she sang across the roaring flames which illuminated the sad smile on her lips. He smiled back, the farewell that they had shared in the distant meadows flashing through his mind.

Placating Rowena had not been easy and Godric soon learned that she had retained much of the hurt and anger she'd felt when he had chosen to accompany Salazar on his feud. Godric hated being parted from her, but his quest was perilous and filled with untold dangers which he would not expose Rowena to. He loved her far too much to risk her life in his own foolhardy pursuit of revenge.

Their last, heated coupling in the shadows of Black-Hollow's meadows that afternoon had been a hurried affair. It was Helga who, understanding that her two friends would soon be parted, had masterminded a plan to distract the wizards amassed in Black-Hollow and ensure that the young lovers would not be disturbed.

It had been a frantic release, filled with muted cries of reckless abandon and promises of love. Afterward, they lay entwined in each other's arms in the fatigued stupor which often followed their lovemaking. Rowena traced a finger of his chest and Godric absentmindedly played with her raven locks until the young witch shifted and began beseeching him to let her accompany them on the feud.

'We will be together,' Rowena concluded passionately, after listing all the merits she would bring to the undertaking. However, Godric's mind could not be changed and once again he staunchly refused her.

'Why?' she asked coldly once Godric had voiced his protests, 'why will you deny me?'

'You cannot come,' Godric reiterated quietly,

'Is it because I am a woman?' Rowena snapped bitterly, all her frustrations with him rising as she pushed away and wrapped her dirt-stained cloak tightly about her body. She would not look at him, 'is it because you think I am not worthy of the challenge? Was everything you told me a lie?'

'How could I ever believe that?' Godric said, staring at her as if she was mad, 'I saw you confront one of the most powerful men in Britain! How could I ever believe that you were inferior to us?'

'Then let me come with you!' She cried,

'No,'

'Then you do not love me!'

'Rowena…' Godric growled in frustration, leaning over pull her back towards him, but she simply slapped his hands away.

'I thought you were different,' Rowena began, grasping her cloak even more tightly about her body, 'but you're just like them all the rest. You stubborn, bullheaded…'

'Are you finished?' Godric inquired curtly,

'No!' she snapped back, 'you're abandoning me! I've risked everything to be with you, from my father's wrath to scandal and my own reputation. Will you leave me to fester here in Britain whilst you go gallivanting across the world, winning glory and renown?'

'I don't think you'll fester,' Godric replied, 'it's not in your nature. Not the woman who faced down Avalon's enemies single-handedly…'

'Avalon's enemies are now my own,' said Rowena, 'do you think Bellême will not seek revenge? And what about Ramon Bigot, who you claim wants to hurt me whilst he still pursues my hand in marriage?' What do you think I should do if they come for me?'

'Then you go to your friends,' Godric replied, shuddering at the fears she voiced, for they had already crossed his own mind and plagued sleepless nights, 'and seek refuge with them. Bellême's power does not extend to all the corners of Britain, so go to where he cannot reach you. I'll return in a year or two, and when I do nothing will deter me from being with you.'

'If you return,' Rowena mumbled darkly, her body deflating as the anger left her.

'Well, I am rather good with a sword,' Rowena let out a reluctantly laugh at Godric's feigned pomposity as her lover wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. However, it didn't stop her from swatting his ear a lot harder than she had originally intended.

'I find arrogance to be an unappealing trait…'

'I can always prove it to you again.' Godric boasted with a hopeful smile. Rowena smiled sadly,

'Honour,' the witch sighed dejectedly as she repeated Godric's reason for leaving her, but she made no protest when he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the mouth. At first, she did not respond, but then she sighed against him and returned the fervent kiss, letting the cloak slide off her thin shoulders as they made love again.

A little while later and utterly spent, Rowena lay in Godric's arms with her bare back resting against his chest as she played with their interlocked fingers.

'When you return,' she began wistfully, 'do you promise that we can be together?'

'I swear it,' Godric murmured determinedly, kissing the nape of her neck gently as his breath made her squirm and giggle.

'We'll find a homestead in one of the hills to the north,' Rowena continued, sighing contently, 'in a valley shrouded by trees. We'll be so well hidden that no one could ever find us. There we'll build a life together. You'll be a famous warrior whilst I shall pursue the boundaries of our knowledge of magic. We'll be happy there, filling it with love and laughter…'

'Will there be lovemaking?' Godric asked cheekily,

'Oh, yes,' Rowena smiled coyly, her face still flushing slightly as she shuffled deeper into his embrace, 'there will definitely be lovemaking and our children will grow strong in body and swift in mind.'

'I like this dream,' Godric admitted.

'It will not be a dream,' Rowena vowed passionately, 'one day it will be a reality.'

'Another prophecy?' Godric inquired curiously. Rowena shook her head, before angling her face so that she could lean up to kiss his jaw.

'I just know,' she murmured as his lips bent down to claim her own.

Eventually, the time came to leave. They dressed in silence, then held each other in a tender embrace, savouring the moment before it lapsed into a mere memory. Rowena was smiling as she pulled away from him, having already shed enough tears on the matter.

'I'll come back,' Godric promised her again, stroking a loose lock of raven hair away from her face.

'I know,' Rowena replied, tracing a finger over the silver brooch she'd given him. She added more charms to the jewel; enchantments which she hoped would bring Godric luck on his quest. He would need it when he faced Melusine in battle, 'I'll wait for you.'

'There will be no one else,' Godric promised her in return and his honest devotion made her smile widen.

'Live,' Rowena breathed against his lips as she killed him for the final time, repeating the command she'd given him before his duel against Killer-Bjorn almost a year before.

Now, their chaste time together seemed like a distant memory and as he stood beside his uncle's blazing pyre, Godric's urge to seek comfort in her arms again was almost unbearable to resist. Yet, it was a wish which would remain unfulfilled. The scowling Scatter-Brain had not escaped Godric's notice and the young knight did not want to confront Rowena's father again, fearing that blood would be spilled if they did.

It didn't take long for more people to join their voices to Rowena's in song and Godric recognised Helga's amongst the beautiful music as her Welsh kinsmen honoured the man who had led his followers to aid their fight against those wretched warriors who brought fire and death to Wales. The rest of those gathered about the pyre openly wept in response to the tragic song, for they would cherish their memories of the Lord and Lady of Avalon.

Scanning the crowd of solemn faces, Godric's gaze finally landed upon Ella. Avalon's former whore lurked at the back of the assembly, ignored by her companions and half hidden in the night's gloom. It was obvious that Ella wished to brood alone and Godric could not blame her, for he had finally cornered the elusive Ella in the shadows of his hall. The Lord of Black-Hollow found Ella hunched over a sleeping Hamon, who lay in an enchanted slumber. This was due to being dosed by a potion which would ensure a painless sleep whilst the magic of the Welsh healers sought to heal the damage inflicted on the Muggle's hand. The fingers he had lost during the battle for Avalon would not grow back, for dark magic was notoriously difficult to repair even for the most skilled healers.

However, Godric had paused when he noticed the small, caring smile upon Ella's face as she tended Hamon's head around. Long, delicate fingers gently caressed Hamon's tawny locks as she applied the healing poultices which would keep his wounded head free of poison. Her smile was so adoring that it almost made Godric reconsider confronting her.

Then she looked up and the smile which had brightened her face instantly disappeared as Godric closed in and cast a few charms that would ensure they were not disturbed by prying eyes. The young knight knew that Ella had perfected the art of intrigue, for she was adept at both coaxing information from unwilling tongues and at guarding her own counsel. Yet, when he began to confront her with his suspicions about Black's betrayal, she visibly tensed before shrinking away from the younger man as if his accusations scolded her. Godric left no stone untouched, accusing Black of revealing the secrets of Avalon's defence; secrets he had wheedled from his lover. Godric surmised that Black had then played both factions for his own gain, selling this knowledge to Melusine and enabling the She-Wolf to unleash the deadly Bellême on Avalon.

'I thought the noble Godric Gryffindor was above such petty jealousies,' Ella said waspishly, feigning ignorance despite her paling face.

'I will never envy wizards like Black,' Godric replied coolly, 'besides, what is there to be jealous of? He is not the Lord of the Blacks yet, merely the master of its whores.'

'You dare…' she spluttered, her trembling hand betraying her desire to slap him.

'Is it not true?' Godric asked her mildly, 'you've sold your body for years and I never judged you for it. But I never thought you would sell your honour?'

'I…what is this?' Ella glanced at Hamon to check that he still slept, before hissing angrily, 'what are you saying Godric?'

'I will speak more plainly,' Godric remarked before revealing all his suspicions about how she was the accomplice to Black's treachery, having confessed to her lover as she lay in his arms all the secrets of Avalon she had discovered or witnessed since the day she arrived at the white castle. Ella, who could be as sly as any fox, fought hard to deny his allegations.

However, Ella's paling face and increasingly trembling body soon betrayed her nerves at being challenged so boldly by a man who was a pale shadow of the earnest young boy she had once enjoyed being able to make blush. Now Godric was a knight who towered over her in size and had a will forged from the strongest steel, with piercing emerald eyes which shone with suppressed rage. Once, such allusions to danger may have excited Ella and made her lust for the young knight, but only fear stirred in her heart at the sight of the darkening glare. For the first time in years, the fiery Ella felt intimidated and the unfamiliar sensation made her defiant countenance stumble. She had betrayed herself and Ella's defiance soon gave way to a sudden wave of remorse.

'Amalric would not...you know that I would never…'

Godric let her weep, believing the whore when she confessed that she regretted it. Ella rarely wept like she was doing now and Godric sensed that her grief for the fallen was heartfelt. Besides, Ella had been amongst the inhabitants whose lives were sacrificed to further Black's ambitions and doubts about the sincerity of her lover's promises had plagued her since Bellême's attack. Yet, she still loved the regal wizard and when she loyally tried to defend Black's actions by claiming that Melusine had bewitched her lover, Godric had finally heard enough. Ella was still implicated in Avalon's fall and Godric could not summon up the resolve to forgive her betrayal. Not when the wounds were still so fresh.

'Go back to Black,' Godric said harshly in response to her pleas, 'and tell him that no Black will ever be welcome in Black-Hollow. If your lover dares to trespass on my land, then I'll let Hamon kill him. I'm sure he'll be willing to oblige.'

'You're casting me out?' Ella exclaimed, stunned by the banishment, 'you've branded me a traitor because I love a man you hate?'

'Hardly,' Godric frowned, 'one day I will forgive the part you played in all this, but Black still sold Alain to Melusine purely for his own greed and I will have no peace with him. As long as you choose Black, then you will not be welcome here. If the day ever comes when you finally see your lover for the self-serving worm he is, only then will Black-Hollow once again be a refuge for you.'

'How very noble of you,' Ella snarled scathingly, 'what a paladin of chivalric virtue you are…'

'Ella,' Godric growled warningly and his grave expression immediately silenced the whore, 'if it was Salazar who harboured these suspicions, then you would already be dead.'

Ella gulped, rendered speechless by Godric's grim honesty. She knew Godric was right. Salazar would never forgive those responsible for the fall of Avalon and if he ever discovered that Ella was implicated in the plots which had brought about its ruin, then she would meet a terrible end.

'So this is it?' Ella whispered, her voice finally cracking. It was only the second time Godric had seen Ella look so vulnerable, but this time he offered her no comfort. He simply hardened his heart and nodded, prompting a sigh from Ella as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

'Will you let me say my farewells?' she suddenly asked beseechingly, resigned to the exile she faced. Godric did not answer immediately and the silence stretched on awkwardly as the Lord of Black-Hollow considered her request. Godric was not fooled, for he knew exactly who Ella was loathed to part with.

'No,'

'Will you tell them?' Ella inquired tentatively, closing her eyes at his refusal.

'No,' Godric repeated, 'but only if you stay away from Hamon. I am indebted to him. He is strong, loyal and there is no better man to have as a sworn-brother. How many women would dream of being loved by a man like him? Yet, he loves you and you love another. Losing you will hurt, but if Hamon ever learnt of your betrayal, then it would break him.'

'I can't…' Ella said softly, the quietest of whimpers escaping her lips as she bent her head in a futile attempt to appease the growing inner turmoil she was experiencing, 'Hamon means…he means a lot to me.'

'Then go to Black,' Godric said again, 'and leave Hamon be. He has suffered the loss of his father and his home. Playing with his heart will be a torture he does not need to endure.'

Ella sniffed, before wiping away the first tear to breach her blurring vision. She hastily scrambled to her feet and made to leave, but hesitated as she reached the end of Hamon's magically conjured feathered bed. She regarded Godric for a brief moment, summoning the courage to engage in one last duel of words before they parted.

'I once told you,' Ella finally said, 'that the day would come when you had to choose between honour and love.'

'You think I'm a fool?'

'We are all fools,' Ella said forlornly, 'honour and renown will always come first in the hearts of men, regardless of the love showered upon them by a good woman. Yet, despite all this, you're still not like other men, Sir Godric Gryffindor. Death stalks you more than anyone I've ever met. Your courage means that you will always be in the thick of the fight, but it is your loved ones who will suffer the consequences of your thirst for glory and bloodshed. Who will fall next in your pursuit of power, Paladin?'

Ella did not expect an answer and an icy glare was the only response she received. The whore fled soon after, a shrewd decision encouraged by the dangerous gleam in the young knight's eyes and the memory of how Godric's sword had torn apart the prisoners they had taken in Avalon in a frenzy of rage.

Watching Ella from his place beside his uncle's burning pyre, Godric suspected that she would have fled Black-Hollow before the fires consuming the Lord and Lady of Avalon finally died. She would be forced to meet her lover beyond the boundaries of Godric's lands, for the young knight had gone ahead with his promise that no Black would ever cross the border into his land. Scatter-Brain would also leave in the coming days, taking Rowena with him. Godric knew that no ancient custom of hospitality would persuade Rowena's father to allow the travelling young wizard and his friend to rest in his own household before they ventured into the tall northern highlands.

Godric soon realised that he was not the only one to notice Ella's distance, for Hamon was also watching the whore through the dancing flames. Godric didn't know if Hamon was aware of the confrontation which had transpired over his sleeping body, but Hamon had always been unable to master Hugh Troll-Bane's emotionless mask and a glimmer of hurt seeped through his grim expression.

Hamon's good humour had been absent of late. The young knight had been dispirited and infuriated when he discovered that he would not be joining his sworn-brothers on their quest for revenge. He had lost a father to Melusine's ambitions and many of his friends had also died in her pursuit of power. He had just as equal claim as his magical friends to play a part in Melusine's death.

Yet, he could not come. Hamon's wounded hand had proved more grievous than anyone had first thought. The dark curse that struck it was of unknown origins and had torn through flesh and bone, inflicting a wound which even the attentions of the Welsh healers could not repair. The bloody gashes had been reduced to grisly scars, but Hamon could no longer clench his left fist. The Muggle knight would still be able to wield a lance and sword in battle, but he now found it impossible to grasp a shield in his lifeless fingers and without it to protect him, Hamon would be unable to face spells in the thick of a fight. Also hindered by his inability to travel by magic, the quest was barred to him, for speed would be vital if they were to defeat Melusine.

However, there was no way of knowing how long it would take Godric and Salazar to accomplish their goal and in the Lord of Black-Hollow's absence, his lands would require a man he could trust to rule in his place and protect his people from a dangerous world. They would also need support in Britain; a stronghold which could weather the plots and ambitions of wizards like Bellême. In response to their enemy's rising influencing, Godric and Salazar knew that they would be drawn into the ensuing conflict once they returned and when the time came, they would need loyal men to support them.

With his troll-slaying father dead, Hamon was the most loyal knight they knew. He was also fair and capable in war, having won his spurs during their battles in Wales. As a Muggle, he would also be well-received by the old inhabitants of Black-Hollow, who had welcomed Avalon's refugees with distrust. However, with Hamon ruling them Godric's absence, they would have no reason to believe that he favoured the magical inhabitants of Black-Hollow over the Muggles and his good-natured modesty would enable him to depend on Siward's expertise without becoming embittered by the loyal old warrior's influence. When Salazar had explained this to Hamon, the Muggle's sour mood had lightened and he had promised to shape a retinue of hardened warriors which would even surpass that of Alain's fabled band. Seeing the determination that blazed in his friend's eyes, Godric believed him.

Hamon's final parting gift had come on the eve of Alain's funeral rite.

'Take it,' Hamon told Godric, presenting his friend with the great sword which had belonged to Hugh Troll-Bane.

'I can't,' Godric exclaimed incredulously, waving the offer away despite his eyes been seemingly transfixed upon the priceless heirloom, 'you're Hugh's son! You should have it!'

'Not this sword,' Hamon smiled, thrusting the sheathed blade into Godric's hands, 'this sword is special. It's imbued with magic and was forged by the finest swordsmiths in Christendom so that it could be wielded by the hands of a paladin. I have both my father's name and his legacy to remember him by. It was you he always said was the greatest pupil he ever trained. Knowing my father, he would want this sword passed into the hands of a man capable of wielding it with the skill it deserves. Take it Godric and build a reputation greater than any my father ever achieved.'

'I cannot repay you for this,' Godric spluttered, failing to hold back his tears, 'for everything.'

'You will,' Hamon said with the ghost of his old grin, 'don't make me force you to take this. You're not too famous to escape a beating, Godric.'

Hamon said no more and retired to his sleeping quarters, leaving a stunned Godric to examine the blade he had always hoped he'd have a chance to wield again. Hugh's sword had not left Godric's side since the moment it had been passed into the young knight's keeping and strapped to his belt even as he stood beside his uncle's funeral pyre and wept freely.

Finally, Rowena's song reached its end and the gathering drifted into silence until only the crackle of burning wood remained as it consumed the Lord and Lady of Avalon. Godric glanced at Salazar and found that his sworn-brother's handsome features were also wet with tears. As if sensing that Godric's gaze upon him, Salazar turned and returned his friend's sad smile. The older wizard lent across little Eleanor's head and clasped Godric's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. The younger man's smile widened further when he saw the same fire reflected in his friend's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the oath they had sworn to bring Alain and Melusine's killers to justice.

A solemn Eleanor shifted tiredly beside him, resting her small head against his leg as she fought to stay awake. Godric smiled softly as he reached down and ruffled her red hair, remembering Siward's earlier advice to him when the aged warrior was delivering his daily report.

'Eleanor is adamant that she will go with you,' the steward had commented wryly at the report's conclusion, 'she claims she won't be dissuaded.'

'You'd have soon beaten that idea out of my head quickly at that age.'

'Aye, and I'd have enjoyed it too,' Siward smiled nostalgically, 'you wouldn't have listened to me though. You never did if there was an adventure to be had.'

'I was as boneheaded as a child as I am now,' Godric agreed with a chuckle,

'I'm…' the steward suddenly faltered, feeling more uncomfortable than the old warrior had done in decades, 'I am proud of you. Your ancestors would be proud of you. Do you think your namesake would have stood idle when there was revenge to be had? Not when his own brother had been murdered at his enemy's hand. It is not in your blood to ignore a call to arms and for that, you are a son of Black-Hollow.'

Godric's tearful smile widened at the memory of the old steward's praise. Looking about him at the friends gathered there, from the surviving members of Alain's household like Belin, Gervais and the broken Bayard to friends and allies like Helga, Isobel and Gofanon the Wise, the young knight felt his heart soar with affection. They may be hurt and still reeling from the losses they'd suffered, but they were far from defeated. The day would come when Godric and his companions would recover from the blows they sustained, rallying in preparation to strike back against the scourge which assailed them. Once again, Godric shared a secret smile with Rowena across the flickering flames and he was confident that he would return once his quest was done.

However, this was a night which belonged to the Lord and Lady of Avalon and there would be no talk of feuds or war. From Andros the Invincible to Arthur of the Britons, many heroes had died fighting beneath their own banners and Alain the Flame-bearer deserved to join their esteemed company in the golden halls of the afterlife.

Yet, Godric hoped with all his heart that Alain's dream would come true and that the love he had shared with Morwenna had forged a bond so powerful that it would lead their spirits back to the island they had ruled in life. There, beside the sacred pool where the young, godlike hero had first beheld the bathing nymph of Avalon and where the pair had first fallen under love's enthralling spell, Alain and Morwenna would again be together. Tears would be shed for Alain and his beloved lady as their spirits wandered through the Isle of Apples, forever entwined in peace and love for all eternity…


	43. Forty-Two: Epilogue - The Feud

**Epilogue**

 **The Feud**

 **Autum, 1092**

It was cold. Bitterly cold. The chilly wind which howled over the frost-bitten shoreline was so bitingly cold that no warming charm seemed able to fully shield against it. Despite being draped in thick skins and a heavy cloak, Godric could not stop shivering as he stood on the crest of a sea cliff and stared out over the rolling grey expanse. To any man who had spent his whole life landlocked, the great heaving vastness of the sea before him seemed balefully majestic and stirred Godric's already frayed nerves.

The young wizard was not enamoured with the idea of being at the mercy of the malevolent northern seas which at a whim could sink the small vessel of wood and iron he'd be sailing on. With its towering waves, volatile storms and the jagged rocks it slyly hid beneath the sea, a watery grave was not a far-fetched prospect for the ashen-faced wizard. Godric had spent the previous night cooped close to a foul-stinking hearth in a fisherman's hovel, listening to the weathered sea-folk grunt out tales in intelligible dialects. They spoke of the inherent dangers which came with a life at sea, for the waves could not be tamed and for the hardy folk trying to master it were constantly striving to survive. When sleep finally claimed him, Godric was contemplating returning to the mountain vastness they had already passed rather than the numerous dangers lurking out to sea.

Sea-wolves still prowled the waves in their dragon-headed ships, daring the dangerously cunning seas which the hardened local seafarers proudly claimed were the most perilous in Britain. Beyond the horizon lay storm-ridden archipelagos and distant Iceland, a brutal place of vagabonds, strange magic, and monstrous creatures. Godric had even heard tales of a place north of Iceland, lands of ice and fire which were half shrouded in myth. Untold dangers lurked ahead, but Godric had no choice other than to confront them. The enemy he had sworn to defeat had fled to the fringes of the northern world and honour dictated that Godric must follow them there.

The sea may be a brooding and ruthless master, but it could also be a generous gift-giver. During the night, a great whale had been washed ashore and now a small crowd of excitable locals was clustered around the unexpected prize. Bones, flesh, and blubber were being shredded from the corpse, for no resource from this valuable larder would be left unscathed. They worked quickly as the local lords would soon arrive and their armed retainers would disperse the crowd and take the whale for themselves. Above them flew an army of squawking gulls, waiting for their own opportunistic moment to descend from the skies. One gull, a prince amongst thieves and more impatient than its comrades, swooped in and darted for its prize. A hailstorm of stones soon discouraged it from attempting the venture and the feathery prince was forced to make an impromptu retreat as it was chased away by a screeching pack of wild-haired children.

Godric shook his head at their antics, before turning his gaze to the small vessel which sat rolling gently in the sea's shallows. The young wizard grimaced. The locals had initially been unwilling to help and gold proved an insufficient persuader to folk who had no need of it. However, they were not averse to magic and the offer of a day's honest labour swiftly changed their mind. Now a ship was being prepared for the journey to nearby Orkney, where Godric and Salazar hoped to find a larger ship willing to brave the crossing too far off Iceland.

It was Salazar's silver-tongue which had persuaded the sea-folk that it would be prosperous to aid them, although the fact that Godric's towering presence dwarfed the bow-legged fishermen and the great sword hanging across his back would have dissuaded them from quarrelling with the strange newcomers.

Godric lifted his hand and briefly pressed it against the blade's pommel, seeking comfort from Troll-Bane's sword. It was a reminder of the world he would soon leave behind and which had so violently been taken from him. The gift came with a towering legacy, but Godric remained unfazed and would cherish the magnificent blade for as long as it was his to wield.

The young knight would always remember their departure from Black-Hollow. Many farewells were said and only Siward's intervention stopped Godric from having to resort to magic to discourage a tearful Eleanor from following them. Hamon had pushed a smiling Bran out of the way before embracing him at the threshold of Godric's hall, where the two sworn-brother's had held each other for a long time.

'If you need me,' Hamon grunted, 'then send word and I'll come to rescue you from whatever mess you've blundered into. I know how terrified you get when I'm not there to hold your hand.'

'Your ego is insufferable,' Salazar piped in from beside them, 'I swear I'd rather wipe a troll's arse than spend months on the road with an ugly bastard like you.'

'Don't fret, Sal,' Hamon had shot back mischievously, winking at a chuckling Godric, 'I'll make sure your ladies and precious mirrors are safe with me.'

'Muggle swine!'

'You arrogant, toad-faced…'

Hamon could not finish the insult, for the two friends were grinning so widely that they were soon barking with laughter. After a fierce embrace between the sworn-brothers, the two wizards set out from Black-Hollow on the long road north. That had been many weeks ago, yet howling winds, baking sunshine, and torrential rain had made it feel like a lifetime since that day.

It had been even longer since he last saw Rowena. His lover had left Black-Hollow the day after the funeral pyre, following her father north as he set out for the distant highlands of their homeland. Whenever Godric pressed a hand to the brooch she'd gifted to him, he could still vividly recall the last fleeting glance she'd given him over her retreating shoulder and the same radiant smile he had first witnessed whilst he had watched her dance in the glow of Lughnasadh's bonfires. Godric hoped that he would live to see it again.

'Merlin,' Salazar's voice jolted Godric from his gloomy reverie, alerting the young knight to his friend's approach. The young wizard clambered up the steep, stone-strewn cliff path towards him, his hands tucked beneath his emerald cloak to ward off the chill sea breeze and the sting of the beach grasses around them. When one long blade sliced his hand, the chirping of insects gave the impression that the waving grass was sniggering at him and caused Salazar to glare at it. When his eyes landed on Godric, he sighed in long suffering exasperation, 'will you get rid of that bloody hat. You look ridiculous…'

Godric's morose countenance was swiftly replaced by a smirk. He had grown used to Salazar's disdain for the hat Godric had purchased when the travelling friends had reached the foothills of the Scottish highlands. Unaccustomed to the wind and rain which battered the wild northern lands, Godric had procured a well-worn leather hat from a half-mad hedge-wizard whose hearth they had shared for a night. Salazar had been incredulous, acting as if Godric's acquisition had somehow insulted him and enjoyed voicing his derision for the hat at every opportunity.

'How are the preparations going?' Godric inquired, shrewdly ignoring his friend's jibes.

'Slow,' Salazar sighed, 'but our seafaring friends seem to be in good spirits. The shipmasters waiting for a favourable wind, or I think that's what he said. I had to rely on hand gestures because I could barely understand a word of what they were saying. There's a better chance of getting more out of a bloody goblin. They may have been mocking me as well. Every time I opened my mouth they just laughed at me. I got so frustrated that I had to leave before I hexed one of them.'

'Your people skills never fail to astound me…'

'Oh, so he finally wets his prick in a girl and now he thinks he's a jester. Don't make me lance that new ego of yours. I almost wish I'd brought Hamon with me…'

'You two wouldn't have got further than Thanesfell before parting ways because of a ridiculous argument,' Godric laughed knowingly.

'True,' Salazar admitted ruefully, before looking back at the small ship bobbing in the shallows and the men who were readying it for their voyage, 'there's no reasoning with barbarians.'

'They shared their food with us last night,' Godric pointed out, 'and they're risking their lives to sail to Orkney this close to the storm season.'

'It took enough work and magic to persuade them,' Salazar muttered sullenly, before sighing dramatically. The young wizard looked across the sea to the distant landless horizon, contemplating the enormity of the quest ahead of them, 'I never thought it would come to this…'

'None of us did,' Godric agreed, glancing at his friend, 'you've not said much about it?'

'About what?'

'Avalon,' Godric replied conversationally, 'Alain and Morwenna. The friends we've lost…'

'I'm not the only one,' Salazar shrugged defensively,

'But I know you, Sal,' Godric pressed. It was important for the young knight to know that Salazar was not burdening himself with a self-loathing which may affect his wits, 'I know you have a habit of shouldering the blame for deeds which were out of our control. I need you with me because there is no turning back from here.'

'Are we really doing this?'

'Sal,' Godric pressed seriously,

'So we are doing this?'

'Just tell me the truth,' Godric sighed at his friend's evasive behaviour. Salazar had been purposefully avoiding every attempt Godric made at confronting the matter whilst they had been on the road.

'There's no need for this, Godric,' Salazar smiled humourlessly, 'I can't deny I'm angry, but I'm channelling mine towards Melusine. I will know no peace until that bitch is dead. I'll let myself grieve for Avalon then.'

Godric would know no peace until he had defeated Bellême once and for all. The Norman baron had retreated to his family's strongholds to await the King's justice and the Wizengamot's retaliation. However, Gofanon no longer had the ability to martial the power to oust Bellême from the magical council or face him on the field of battle. His greatest ally was dead and Viviana resided in distant Brittany. Longbottom and Black would not commit to overthrowing Bellême's influence and the spineless CInead would plead caution, wasting time with empty promises. In the end, large fines would be levied from Bellême's estates and the threat of violence delivered via hawk, but nothing else would come of it. Godric spat into the long grass, the strong wind capturing it before it could ever land. Bellême had gotten away with it for now, but once Melusine was dead then Godric and Salazar would return for revenge. The young knight hoped that his nemesis would grow to fear their coming.

'Melusine will die,' Godric vowed. If there was any justice in this world, then Melusine will suffer for her cruel deeds.

'It won't be easy,' Salazar grimaced, 'Melusine is powerful and she still commands the loyalty of a few chosen men who will fight us until their dying breath if Melusine commands it. If she finds the Cauldron, then her magic may far exceed our own…'

'We'll do it,' Godric growled resolutely, 'and we'll live to tell the tale.'

'The fearless Godric Gryffindor,' Salazar chuckled fondly, 'what will there be to fear when only Vikings, dark creatures and murderous witches want to kill us.'

'As long as we stand together,' Godric smiled.

'Together,' Salazar mused, his own smile widening as he offered the hand they had scarred to reinforce their brotherhood to Godric, 'I can live with that. After all, we are sworn-brothers.'

'Until the end,' Godric stated confidently and returned the gesture by clasping Salazar's hand in his own.

A horn call blared nearby as the grinning companions fell silent. The lord who ruled this land had finally arrived and his retainers had already begun to disperse the disgruntled crowd harvesting the dead whale. The hardy folk looked reluctant to relinquish their bountiful prize and it wouldn't be long before a quarrel broke out. The gulls were also disbanding, for a great sea-eagle was circling the corpse and the shrieking thieves could not contend with this mighty monarch of the sky. Below them, the sailors were shouting and waving as the wind finally changed in their favour, blowing down from the high mountains at their back.

'Come on,' Salazar beckoned to his friend, clapping Godric on the back and flashing him with a wicked smile, 'we have a she-wolf to hunt.'

Godric nodded grimly. Fate called to them and they would risk their honour and their lives on the outcome of the feud. Thorvald Ragnarsson had fled this way, seeking refuge in his homeland and if Melusine was with him then he would die as well. The two wizards had spent days combing through Yusuf's surviving scrolls, delving into the scholarly hoard in search of the remotest mention of the Cauldron. They were left frustrated by the task, but they did discover many spells which could prove useful for their quest once the two wizards had mastered them. Whether they would keep Godric and Salazar alive was yet to be seen.

'Let's go and lend our uncouth friends a hand,' said Salazar as they began to make their way to the beach. Godric noticed that Salazar sounded more jovial than he had in weeks, 'and please, for the love of Merlin, lose that bloody hat. You might be content with sacrificing your pride by looking ridiculous but I would like to preserve some dignity on this voyage…'

Godric smiled as he followed in Salazar's ranting wake. They stood at the cusp of a great journey like the heroes of a song, ready to tread roads which would be strewn with countless battles and unforeseen challenges. Whatever terrors and dark magic they encountered, they were confident that their loyalty to each other would remain unbroken. No matter what danger loomed, the banners of the snake and the lion would hunt down Melusine the She-Wolf for a final, brutal reckoning.

Bloody battles and heroic deeds beckoned, for Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were on a quest for revenge. For hidden in a distant realm was the Cauldron of Rebirth, a treasure waiting to be unearthed so that it could bring chaos to the land and inspire heroes to rise to defend the magical world…

 **TO BE CONTINUED**


	44. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

'The Heart of a Lion' is finally complete. What started out as a random idea I had whilst reading Fanfiction one night has turned into a passion project combining J.K. Rowling's world, historical fiction, mythology and a Master's degree in medieval history which I wasn't (and I'm still not) using in my professional life.

Despite studying medieval history, it has taken four years of research and writing to get to this point. I list most of my reasons for writing 'The Founders Series' in the note at the end of the first chapter, but it was fundamental because it was the kind of story I wanted to read. It is a mostly original story, based on the foundations laid by Rowling and I hope everyone has enjoyed reading it.

I've heard from a few people that the nods/references, both subtle and blatant, to the historical and mythological events and figures included have gone over their heads. As a result, my brothers (the first two people to read it) suggested writing a historical/author's note to clarify some of these details. So here goes…

The main purpose of 'The Founders Series' is to chart Godric and Salazar's friendship from being as close as brothers to being bitter enemies, unable to forgive each other for their differing beliefs. To ground their rise and fall, as well as the magical world and the founding of Hogwarts, in a believable medieval setting, I tried to work out how wizards would have influenced the medieval world, as well as how they themselves would have been influenced by Muggles. This is especially important as there was no Statute of Secrecy in the medieval period and Rowling has stated that wizards and Muggles coexisted in Britain at this time. Moreover, I had to come up with a medieval equivalent of and a precursor to the magical world inhabited by Harry.

To do this (and to keep it as historically accurate as a story about wizards can be), I made the decision to go with a different tone to the Harry Potter series. The medieval world could be a very dark place. Prejudice, hate, domestic abuse, brutal warfare, violent atrocities, murder, corruption rape, treachery were a part of life in the medieval world. However, life wasn't as grim as it was in Westeros. There was also aspects of life to enjoy, such as friendship, loyalty, love, music, games, literature and much more.

In the end, I wanted to show that the Founders lived in a greyer world than the more morally black and white society of canon. Knights were expected to kill, maim and make war, but these same men could also be peace-loving and cultured. Furthermore, their lifestyles and values would have been alien to our own and I was reluctant to transfer modern day values onto people who lived in the past. As a result, the characters in 'The Heart of a Lion' are very much men and women of their time.

Alain is probably the best example of this. He is fundamentally a good man; loving, fair and wise enough to see beyond the petty prejudices which blight the land they inhabit. Yet, he can also be a ruthless warrior, as seen in the part he played in the Harrying of the North (a historical campaign of brutal genocide which in this story was a consequence of a war between wizards of different cultures). Alain sums up the contradictory nature of the medieval magical world.

Whilst not a replica of Hogwarts, Avalon (a place taken from Celtic mythology) was supposed to be an inspiration for the future castle. From being hidden by magic and guarded by enchanted statues, to the secret subterranean network of caves beneath the castle which was founded by an esteemed wizard in order to hoard power and secrets, I've attempted to establish what may have influenced some of the choices made by the Founder's when building Hogwarts.

Furthermore, I purposefully made parallels with Rowling's world in regards to bloodlines and how important these are to wizards almost a half millennia later. In Harry's day, pureblood families trace their lineages back to the Founders. Yet, for the wizards of a pre-Hogwarts medieval Britain, many of the esteemed bloodlines go back to Merlin and his six pupils (all of whom are figures taken from mythology) and shows how rigid and unending some of the problems with the magical world are. However, I figured that the Norman Conquest would have had just as bigger impact on a magical world as it did the rest of Britain. Ancient families fell and were replaced by new, ambitious men emerged to take their place (these families included the Bellêmes, the Blacks, the Peveralls and other names recognisable from the Potter series).

This is one of the major reasons why I set 'The Heart of a Lion' a hundred years after Rowling's dating. Britain at the end of the 11th century was a melting pot of rival cultures all vying for power and I really wanted to explore these creative opportunities and how this would have affected the magical world. Furthermore, I doubt that you would find a stone castle of Hogwarts's design in 10th century Britain, especially when it is founded by people who inhabit a society which is about half-a-century behind its Muggle counterpart in regards to technological advancements.

On a more historical note, many of the characters and events in 'The Heart of a Lion' actually existed and took place, whilst some came from myth. As far as I've read, William Rufus was very much like how he's seen in this story. Both Rufus and to a greater extent, his younger brother Henry (who only got a couple of fleeting mentions in this tale) will play a more important role in the next stories, especially as they seek to impose their sovereignty over a magical world which does not bow to Muggle kings. Owain ap Cadwgan, Taillefer and the many ancient figures studied by Yusuf all existed, although I took liberties in making them wizards.

The most prevalent historical figure I've exploited to my own benefit is Sir Robert of Bellême. A powerful and ambitious baron, if the 'biased' sources are to be trusted, then Bellême was a feared man with a sadistic and violent nature. Admittedly, it was my brother who suggested using Bellême as the main antagonist and it was a brilliant idea. His story is certainly not over. Melusine is from a more mythical background, but the backstory I wrote for her is based on real legends. The Cauldron of Rebirth was also taken from mythology and so much has been written about it that I suggest using google if you want to know more.

I've hinted at the Church's view of the magical world in 'The Heart of a Lion', but I will explore this in a lot more detail in the sequel. However, I have borrowed liberally from examples of medieval religious fervour which could lead to appalling atrocities. For instance, the fate suffered by wizards like the Slytherin family was based on the persecution and attacks experienced by many medieval Jewish communities.

Moreover, the Order of Merlin in these stories is a magical military order founded by Merlin and other great wizards to guard the world against an ancient evil. This idea was based on the real Order of the Garter, a martial brotherhood established by Edward III which has now become a modern award. They will be very similar to the Templars and Hospitallers and I intend for the Order of Merlin to be the inspiration for the founding of their Muggle counterparts. This will also be explored more in the sequel.

Other historical/mythological objects, figures, creatures and events are merely a google search away, although I tried to be as historically accurate as I could in regards to the aspects of medieval life shown in the story. Alain, Morwenna, Hamon, Hugh Troll-Bane and many, many others were all original characters I produced and blended with Rowling's own creations, who pop up from time to time.

I hope you enjoyed 'The Heart of a Lion,' especially if you stuck with it to the end. Whether I commit to the sequel will depend on how popular the first book proves to be. However, I have written the plot of 'Hear the Lion Roar' and I've included a short synopsis below. In the meantime, I'll continue tidying up 'The Heart of a Lion' so please continue to read, review and share this story with anyone you think may be interested. The more feedback the better.

Finally, I just wanted to say massive thanks to everyone who has already reviewed or followed it. I can't describe how much it means to me to hear that people are enjoying something I've written, as 'The Heart of a Lion' is the first story I've ever actually finished. So cheers!

Until next time…here's a taster for 'Hear the Lion Roar.'

" **1093AD. Britain is a land cursed by conflict as the old order falls and the ambitions of powerful wizards threaten the magical world with anarchy. Amidst the bloodshed and bitter rivalries, two young witches find they're alone in a brutal time and they must learn to depend on their own magic to survive in a world teetering on the edge of ruin.**

 **Grave dangers await Gryffindor and Slytherin as they continue along a perilous road, committed to a feud against a witch whose ancient bloodline and power far exceeds their own. Together, their quest will take them from the icy fringes of the northern seas to the golden city of Constantinople. Yet, the drums of war are calling the knights of Christendom to battle as the Order of Merlin rallies wands to its banner and a crusade marches on a distant land. Outside the mighty walls of the Holy City, our heroes will collide with ancient magical power in an epic clash which will decide the fate of both worlds."**


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